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EARTHLINGS. 


aRA.OE KIISTG, 

AUTHOR OF “MOXSIEUR MOTTE.” 


i 


r 


o'* cOPrRlGn 

OCT 2718881 

^ I- 




“ Depend on it, the change and the surprise 
Are part of the plan : ’tis we wish steadiness. 

Nature prefers a motion by unrest, 

Advancement through this force that jostles that.” 

Browning : Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPIXCOTT CO:\IPANY. 


- 72 -^ 




Copyright, 1888, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 


LIPPINCOTT’S 


]\/[ONTHLY ]y[AGAZINE. 


NOVEMBER, 18 8 8. 


EARTHLINGS. 


CHAPTER I. 

T he evening train was due. Encircled by a refreshing bit of wood- 
land, a fantastic gaudy little station-house awaited the arrival of 
it, with its platform full of people in summer gala toilet. 

Curiosity animated the gentlemen, but it was beginning to be 
tempered by lassitude in the traits of the ladies, whose yawns were 
beginning to efface their pretty expressions of piquant expectancy. 
They thrust their heads closer and closer under the spokes of their 
parasols, trying to hide their complexions from the sun, and turned their 
eyes mechanically from one end of the road to the other, as if, under 
the circumstances, direction were a matter of impartiality or indiffer- 
ence ; but the sun shining lustily, burnishing the telegraph-wires, silver- 
ing the steel rails, striking diamonds out of the gravel between the 
sleepers, brought no locomotive from either extremity before their 
dazzled eyes. 

It was a private station ; no break in the wires overhead threaded 
it on to the news circlet, and the locomotive’s punctuality seemed a 
caprice of its own, not a responsibility to be calculated upon. 

A vivacious youth, whose assurance was condoned by his beauty, 
his pertness by his wit, tried with false alarms to enliven the waiting. 
He divided the attention of the party with a majestic-looking lady in 
black lace and jet, who, standing on the extreme edge of the platform, 
threw her large figure in bold silhouette against the open space, while 
she tried to infuse her guests with some of her enthusiasm. ^^My 
niece Agla§” this, ^^my niece Agla4” that. The words fell heavy 
from her thick, full lips, an apparently endless chain of repetitions. 

Agla4 ! Agla4 ! Agla4 ! Morning, noon, and night, always Agla6 ! 
That the reality prove not so tiresome as the anticipation !” murmured 
a young woman in the safe ear of her husband, who was furtively try- 
ing to light a cigarette behind her parasol in an erratic, teasing breeze. 

601 


602 


EARTHLINGS. 


^^There^s a widow’s cruse of oil at the root of every woman’s 
tongue, I believe, which prevents the delightful possibility of its ever 
rusting or running down. Hang it ! Out again !” 

And a dam across every man’s to keep it from running at all !” 

“ I didn’t dam, Lina, — though I feel like it. — Well, if she were 
the Virgin Mary herself, she’d better be coming along quickly, or she 
won’t have a virtue left under such a running stream of praise. J ust 
look at the parasols hiving over there !” 

The weather was charming, the hour attractive, the trees were 
letting down their shadows across the track, the forest vistas were 
tempting; but that indefatigable tongue, clapping out the litany of 
Agla^’s beauties and virtues, loaded the minutes with such weariness 
that they dragged along, giving opportunity for the spirit of revolt, 
dormant in every feminine heart, to rouse itself against the superlative 
praise of the absent lady. The effervescence of excitement subsiding 
had taken in its ebb much of their welcome. 

So intelligent ! so distingute came from the edge of the plat- 
form. 

The whispering under the parasols was : 

She should be painted with an aureole around her.” 

No, around her pocket-book.” 

How long has she been away ?” 

“ About ten years, I believe.” 

Ten years ; well, that isn’t long for perfection to grow.” 

There wasn’t a sign of it when she went away.” 

What does she come back for ?” 

“ How can you ask ? To see her affectionate aunt, of course.” 

Brings her fortune with her, I hope ?” — from the cluster of men. 

How much is it ?” 

Anything from a hundred thousand to a hundred million. We 
tack on ciphers to suit the inquirer.” 

“A hundred thousand! Whew! I wonder how Sugar-Sheds 
would strike her ?” 

As they struck you, I reckon, — flat.” 

Wonder she did not get married over there. Nobility must be 
losing their business capacity.” 

She was before my time. Did she have much ^ go’ in society ?” 

^^Not much.” 

Too poor to command, and too proud to truckle, eh ?” 

Pretty much that way.” 

No one here old enough to remember her, of course,” glancing at 
the ladies. 

Oh, no ; they were all born since.” 

^^Feltus knew her intimately, I believe.” 

What ! old George !” — from a young beau. She must be old.” 

Oh, yes ; quite old enough to be your mother, though one would 
not suspect it, you are so precocious.” 

Well, I’ll bet she will not stay here long.” 

^^No, unless Europe comes to Louisiana.” 

How long is it behind time ?” 


EARTHLINGS. 


603 


“ Twenty-five minutes.” 

Only twenty-five ! This train is usually ahead of time if it is 
an hour behind the schedule.” 

I suppose we’ll be kept here, if necessary, until midnight.” 

There was a pause in the oratory of the hostess. 

“ Great heavens ! what is the matter ? My aunt has stopped talk- 
ing !” exclaimed the young boy, rushing through the groups. Ah ! the 
locomotive ! The train !” 

The event of the month, week, day, was indeed about to take 
place. Excitement immediately foamed again, cigarettes were thrown 
away, parasols put down, veils lifted up, truant smiles and welcomes 
recalled, and the bright reception dress-parade organized in a trice, with 
original freshness, on the platform. 

^^My niece. Miss Middleton, Miss Agla6 Middleton !” 

The train of cars had completely disappeared when the young lady 
was released from her aunt’s embrace, then only momentarily for neces- 
sary presentation. Again and again she was drawn to the bosom 
which had been broadened and softened as if by foreordination to be 
the repository of Middleton virtue and beauty, celebrated by a Mid- 
dleton tongue. The kisses that fell on her cheeks, her travelling-hat, 
her forehead, her nose, they would have furnished a year’s allowance, 
under ordinary circumstances, between loving relations. 

The aunt held the traveller’s hand tightly in her own as they 
walked up the avenue to the house, reaffirming her welcome, her pleas- 
ure, pointing out the familiar beauties of the place, making generous 
verbal donation of it all to her : Your oak-tree, your old rustic seat, 
your thorn-bush, your grass-plot.” 

Agla^’s fingers grew torpid under the fervid constant pressure 
before they were released at her chamber door ; not her little old cham- 
ber under the eaves, but the sumptuous guest-chamber, with new lace 
draperies over blue satin, the show-case of the finest and best in the 
house. And the release was only consequent to a promise that Agla6 
would repose herself, would on no account hurry herself, either for 
dinner or for guests, both asking no better than to await her pleasure ; 
and the promise was sealed by yet another embrace, ecstatic and pro- 
longed. 

The guests followed in processiou, indulging in the inevitable com- 
ment and exchange of opinion, directed by the women to her appear- 
ance, by the men to her possessions, and they all fell to discussing 
the case of a poor young girl left to indifferent relations and rescued 
by the inheritance of a great fortune, — the case, in fact, of Agla6 Mid- 
dleton. 

How do you find her ?” 

A fine figure.” 

A little too thin for me.” 

Her face is beautiful !” 

“ Do you think so ?” 

It is the expression of it !” 

I would give my soul to go to Europe.” 

And I too, my dear.” 


604 


EARTHLINGS. 


That is the great advantage of money.” 

“ I suppose that’s the last fashion in draping.” 

I feel like Madame Noah.” 

Did you notice her shoes? That is the last, but the very 

last.” 

I can hardly imagine her the same girl who went away.” 

There’s no cosmetic like happiness.’’ 

Money, for women, I tell you, it’s the fountain of youth.” 

“ You recollect her, Lina ?” 

Of course. Well. We are the same age.” 

And you are married, with two children.” 

“ Two ? Three.” 

Was she so dreadfully poor?” 

I should say starving, by the way her aunt used to treat her.” 
What a change !” 

In the aunt, — yes.” 

It was her uncle who left her the fortune ?” 

Her uncle Evezin.” 

They all knew the facts perfectly well, but loved to recur to them 
in hopes of surprising some new variation. 

“ He lived in Paris all his life ?” 

‘^Yes; his father had a horror of Creoles, — made the son swear 
never to put his foot in Louisiana.” 

“A regular Mohammedan. The stories they used to tell about 
him, my dear ! My maman was in Paris at the time.” 

‘‘Oh, tell us some of them, Alice!” one or two voices asked, 
eagerly. 

“ He never had seen her, then ?” 

“ I do not believe she knew of his existence.” 

“ The law did it all.” 

“ He died suddenly, without a will.” 

“That goes without saying. We know who would have got the 
money otherwise.” 

It was such a compact little society that a reference of this sort 
was sufficient ; the indiscretion of a name was simply a barbarism. 

“ Of course she, Agla6, knew nothing of that ?” 

“ I suppose not.” 

“If she had stayed here, be assured it would have reached her 
ears.” 

“ Yes ; there is always some ‘ mauvaise langue^ to volunteer infor- 
mation that stings.” 

“ What a chance ! She had never been out of Louisiana in her 
life ; she was a Cinderella, here, in this very house, after the death of 
her mother.” 

“ The mother had a hard time.” 

“ He, the father, was a Virginian.” 

“ He never cared for her.” 

“ Oh, Middleton was not much.” 

“ Had he anything ?” 

“ A Virginian’s possessions, blood and brag.” 


EARTHLINGS. 


605 


I thought you were going to say family and vice/^ 

‘ Virginihus puei'isque V my uncle the chief justice always quoted, 
with his grand air and manner, every time a Virginian was intro- 
duced to him. He said the translation was Virginy bust, poor and 
risky.” 

Always has to introduce her uncle the chief justice,” grumbled 

Lina. 

Luckily she isif t married !” 

She would not have got much out of her money if she had had a 
husband.” 

I wonder if she will get married now ?” 

Undoubtedly ; she is a catch.” 

There she is now !” 

What an exquisite toilet !” 

My dear, she is lovely.” 

Oh, yes, she has an air, — a decided air.” 

Already, — look, — George Feltus : he is losing no time.” 

Oh, he’ll devote himself to her.” 

But he used to know her long ago, when she was a child.” 

He needs her fortune now as much as she did when she got it. I 
suppose he is tired of waiting for old Dr. Jehan to die.” 

Lina !” whispered her husband ; where in the world do you expect 
to go when you die, with that tongue of yours ?” 

To your club. Jack.” 

“ They say that Feltus barely makes a living.” 

You don’t expect young lawyers to make a living nowadays, do 
you ?” 

Not until they get to be judges.” 

Lina ! be careful ; she heard you.” Jack nodded towards the 
wife of a judge not very far off 

“ So much the better ; but her husband does not fool her : she 
knows why he decided that case against us. But what is comm^re 
B§raud sermonizing about over there ?” 

When the old lady began to talk no one could stay away from her. 
She had not gone to the station with them, but she was sitting in her 
arm-chair on the lawn when they returned, her best black lace cap on 
her head, her best black satin slippers and white silk stockings, in evi- 
dence, on the footstool. 

That depends, my dear, on how you travel,” she was saying, 
speaking in French, for she never went into long stories in English. 
‘‘ Certainly travel cannot improve feature, but it makes expression. 
Expression is the product of impression,” with an air of importance at 
the wisdom this implied, and impression can only be made in the soil 
prepared for it. When some people come from Europe you see in their 
faces Fontainebleau, Versailles, Cluny, St. Peter’s, — others,” shrugging 
her shoulders, the Bon Marche, Worth ! That is the matter with 
parvenues, those without education. Europe is to them a big shop, — 
nothing more. They come from Europe with all the finery imaginable 
for their bodies, — bonnets, frocks, shoes, gloves, jewelry, not only the 
new fashions themselves, but the very prophecies of new fashions ; and 


606 


EARTHLINGS. 


their minds — naked to indecency. It is too ridiculous. It always 
reminds me of Estelle Galoupi. Poor Estelle ! Did I never tell you 
about Estelle? She was in the class ahead of me at school. A rich 
Belgian, a title, fell in love with her. She was as beautiful as an Aurora. 
He married her before she could graduate. She was very beautiful, 
but lazy, — so lazy ! ^ As lazy as Estelle Galoupf became a saying with 
us. She never would study; they just had to pass her from one class 
to the other. Well, after her marriage she stayed away one year, and 
then came back to see her parents. I shall never forget the day she 
came to school to see us ; she was dressed so fine, and there we were 
just as she had left us, in our calico frocks, and hair plaited in pig-tails ; 
we were reciting our ^ Histoire G4n6rale.^ She had hardly time to kiss 
us all. ^ What — history ! Ah, my dears, let me tell you, let me give 
you one piece of advice : study history — history, history, history, all 
the time. Do not be a lazy fool as I was. In Europe it is nothing 
but history, I assure you, — history here, history there, history every- 
where. You come to a painting, — What is that? History. A statue? 
History. A monument ? History. The cities, the towns, the streets, 
the houses, the names of the families, — all history. And I, who never 
took off the fooFs cap for my history-lesson, I could not take part in 
the conversations, I did not understand the allusions. Ah, madame,’ 
turning to old Picquet, ‘ why did you not beat me to make me learn 
history ? When they laughed, I had to laugh too, without knowing. 
Why, the theatre, even the comic opera, had history in it ! and I, if I 
were to be guillotined, I could not have told who was the first king of 
France. I went into society once, I went to one court ball. That was 
enough. When I came home I sat down in my fine dress and cried. ‘But, 
Estelle,’ said my husband, ‘ what under heaven is the matter ?’ I did 
not answer. ‘ Has any one done anything to you ?’ I did not answer. 
‘ I found you so beautiful, your dress was perfect, even the queen 
complimented you, all my friends wanted to be presented to you.’ 
He begged, he implored. I could not answer for weeping. Then, 
‘ No, my friend,’ I said, ‘ it is the last time, the very last time I go 
into society here. You go alone, and do not, for shame’s sake, show 
your friends what a fool you have married. I am good to stay at 
home and darn stockings. Go, dance, talk, amuse yourself like an 
educated gentleman who knows something, who knows history. My 
poor father and mother ! the people here will think they were pork- 
sellers in the market.’ — What !” the old lady interrupted herself, noticing 
for the first time the servant waiting to announce dinner, “ I am talking 
here and keeping you all from dinner ! Oh ! oh ! But why did 
not some of you stop me ? A garrulous old grandmother like me ! 
And one, two beaux to escort me to dinner ! No, no, Mr. Louis, no, 
Mr. John, I am sure I am depriving some young lady. In conscience, 
one is enough ! Of course I drop my handkerchief, and my fan. A 
thousand, thousand thanks ! Diplomats ! Ah, I see, unconscionable 
flatterers ! Madame is taking her niece in herself : that is the reason 

there are two beaux for me ! Ah ! as Talleyrand said ” But she 

had to save her breath now, for they had come to the steps, and, 
prodigy as she was, the climb was a tax on her seventy-five years. 


EARTHLINGS. 


607 


CHAPTER II. 

Guest-chambees, for all their pomp and ceremony, their blue satin 
and white lace formalities, their bronze and Sevres statuettes, their rigid 
punctilious toilet-tables, their reserved armoires which throw only the 
stiffest glass-door reflections, their intrusive suggestions of unaccustomed 
luxuries, do not — this guest-chamber at least did not — compare with 
the little gable-bedchamber for sleep. The narrow dimity-covered 
bed in the chamber up-stairs was the place for unbroken slumber and 
untroubled dreams. There the stars shone all night through the open 
window, and the moon could send fluttering shadows of vine-leaves 
across the very pillow, and daylight had to sift through the mossy veil 
of an old oak which stretched across the east a branching arm, furnish- 
ing a centenarian platform for singing birds, a race- track for squirrels, 
and a universe for busy humming insects. 

Agla§ stole from the close apartment, which seemed to breed all the 
fever-driven fancies of an overexcited world from its extravagances, 
as a pond breeds mosquitoes from its stagnation. She groped her way 
through the darkened hall, and sought by memory a servants^ staircase, 
a childhood’s exit into light and air. 

The garden, like the house, was obsequiously waiting a signal to 
wake ; the flowers motionless in their dew, the violets holding in their 
perfume, that a breath might not disturb the sleeping ladies and gen- 
tlemen whom the resplendent rising sun itself could not attract. But 
through a hedge of trees where the birds sang irrepressibly, a path led 
abruptly from the supineness of slumber to the energy of activity. 
Here in the domestic world day had broken wide open, light, sounds, 
motion, and color, dropped down, ripe, as it were, out of the dusky 
shell of night. Fowls were in full tilt of business or pleasure, cackling, 
crowing, clucking, chirping, gabbling, gobbling, with all the enthusiasm 
of novelty, indulging in the wildest freaks of matutinal exuberance. 

Have they really forgotten yesterday ?” thought Agla4. Have 
they no instinct of to-morrow ?” 

The sun, up as early as she, was drying out pathways and peeping 
into dark corners, surprising and chasing away lingering remnants of 
darkness. Out in the pasture the sheep still clustered around the trunk 
of a tree, the top misty with moss. Beyond, in a fallow fleld, birds in 
sudden courses from fence-rail to fence-rail were skimming over the tall 
grass bending heavy with dew. 

The calves were bounding outside the milking-pen, bleating angrily 
and hungrily at the sight of the foul usurpation of their rights going 
on within. A day’s cleaning of tins aired on the railing around the 
well, and there, in the window of the pagoda-shaped dairy, stood a pail 
of milk waiting to be strained, — exactly as it used to, the surreptitious 
refreshment of her childhood. 

She fllled a mug and stood sipping from it, looking out of the win- 
dow, as she had done so often in her dreams abroad. Here it was at 
last ! Here was the combination called home ! 

It was a pleasant nook of the world to return to. The great white 


608 


EARTHLINGS. 


clouds overhead going up into the blue, — they had taught her what 
snow-covered mountains looked like ; and the Alps reminded her of 
the clouds over the fields at home. 

The morning was giving her the repose and the refreshment denied 
by the night. Her countenance reflected peace, her eyes shone with 
content. In perfect self-unconsciousness, the rarest blessing of the 
civilized, she touched the instinctive enjoyment of the brute. 

“Can I not be supplied from the same delicious fountain? My 
body longs for food now, as my soul longed for fresh air an hour ago. 
I have satisfied the one ; must the other go starving through the long 
hours until breakfast 

The voice rudely dispelled her mood ; a shade of disappointment, 
if not annoyance, passed over her face, but she caught with the deftness 
of a society graduate the cue of voice and manner by the time her aunt’s 
favorite, George Feltus, came to a stand under the window. 

“ Forbid it, kind Nature ! You shall have a draught from the 
identical fountain. I wonder if it is still old Muley or Brindle.” It 
was a perfunctory gayety, artificial and jarring to her and the scene. 

“ I drink to your health, fair Rebecca.” 

“ Thank you, kind Eleazar.” 

“No, no, — Isaac; no more ambassadorial uncles.” 

“I intended making a pilgrimage to the past this morning, but 
have not time for so long a journey backwards as the Old Testament, 
early though it be.” 

“ You have succored me in my distress, and now in my gratitude I 
shall ^ sick-dog’ your footsteps wherever they go, were it to the first line 
of Genesis itself.” 

“ You are not afraid of my sentiment? It might become oppres- 
sive, or contagious,” as a remembrance of his anti-sentimental nature 
came to her. 

“ I never objected to sentiment, if the morning were only early 
enough,” he protested. “ It is like fruit, to be gathered with the dew 
on it, — a sacrament, to be taken fasting. After breakfast, sentiment is 
like the honey on hot buttered cakes they give you in Western hotels. 

As for sentiment by candle-light ” He looked up : she was not 

listening ; she was looking at the sunlight, catching on to the tops of 
the forest trees on the other side of the fallow field. 

“ And moonlight ?” she asked, her ears mechanically following his 
words. 

“ Oh, moonlight !” It was just as well ; he was safer in his inspec- 
tion of her, so. “ Sentiment by moonlight But here comes another 

pail of milk.” 

“ Still on the head of old Milly ?” 

“ You have not seen her yet?” 

“ Not yet.” 

“ Is the pilgrimage to be deferred until the reception and demonstra- 
tion are over?” 

“ No, no,” hastily leaving the dairy. “ Let us go now.” 

“ In which direction ?” 

“ Does the mail still come in before breakfast ?” 


EARTHLINGS. 


609 


“ Yes, — the day before. It comes in after dinner. Is it postwards 
we wend our way ? That looks like an excursion into the future.” 

No. I only asked. I wanted to go to the creek, this way.” 

She walked away from the now bright sun ; he followed her. The 
foot-path led beyond the enclosure into a reservation of forest-lands. 
The shade still rested under the trees : it was like going back into the 
darkness and stillness of night. Their steps were lost in the springy, 
mouldering leaves, the earth-thatching of centuries. They had stopped 
talking. She seemed to have forgotten him. 

Walking on the clouds, ‘marchant sur les nues.^ ” Feltus tried to 
think of the name of the court beauty so chronicled by Froissart — or 
Saint-Simon was it ? It was like a fairy-tale illustration by Dor6, an 
enchanted forest, an enchanted lady breaking the stillness and darkness ; 
— an enchanted swain. A white-clad lady, with a face in the gloom like a 
magnolia-leaf, turning here and there with quick grace ; following a 
squirrePs flight, looking up to the interlacing branches above, caught 
by the sight of a yellow-spotted lily glowing in the bottom of a moist 
ravine. The forest growing strange and weird with his thought, stocked 
with primeval majesty and beauty ; the well-known trees evolving strange 
shapes and sizes, humanizing their knots into faces, their stretch of girtli 
into giants^ torsos, their limbs, hairy with moss, into ogreish arms ; — 
like Heine’s forest, into which the young knight goes and fights with 
the disguised foe. Death. 

And if there were an enchanted swain, was it not he, George 
Feltus, walking behind this girl known from childhood, as if she were 
a mediaeval Madonna,’ trolling out sylvan fantasies like an Arcadian 
shepherd in a segment of the piny woods where he had gone bird-nesting 
a-barefoot ? 

A bur caught her dress. Together they extracted it ; a fragile tex- 
ture transparent with lace, a faint perfume in it. He noticed that she 
wore a porte-bonheur on her arm, with a turquoise in it : it made the 
skin look white, or the skin made it look blue. The petty, common 
service broke the spell of silence. Soon they were launched in a rapid 
conversation, — questions of the day, society topics, books, opinions ex- 
pressed, explained, combated; the friction produced a genial warmth 
neither had felt before, and etfaced the dampening recollection of the 
fictitious effort at the dairy. He was brought within reach of her ob- 
servation and criticism. In truth, her recollection of him had suggested 
no improvement as desirable, and now at first glance she had none to 
demand even with her higher standard. His face was a little bronzed and 
hardened of feature ; there was a more accentuated virility in it. His 
Americanism had been softened, creolized. He wore his clothes negli- 
gently, and the clothes were not prominent for style or cut. As she 
remembered him, he looked up to ideals which he assumed, rather per- 
ceptibly, to be higher than the ideals of others. There was nothing of 
this now in his manner. He was more simple. He was a type of the 
New Orleans American, of whom it is difficult for a stranger to fix the 
nationality, so subtly in language, dress, manner, has the strong coloring 
of other nations faded off into him. 

They had come to the end of their walk, — a little summer-house, 


610 


EARTHLINGS. 


fastened between four trees, on a high bank that overlooked the creek 
which gave the place its name. The streamlet gurgled and rippled 
for a dozen, and cut in under the bank in a way that would make 
one almost believe that the long-threatened fall of the trees and the house 
in its waters was imminent. 

There were the same planks in the flooring, with the same knot- 
holes, where she used to watch the sham fury of the little current un- 
derneath. There was the same uncomfortable incline which showed 
that in eight years that rotting prop had not been renewed ; the same 
careening benches. Was a forgotten sun-bonnet still there in a corner ? 
an ill-used volume of Waverley lying around ? There was all of Europe 
and a fortune between her and the last reading of Ivanhoe.’^ Little 
flocks of birds were taking their morning bath on the sloping sandy 
point above her ; metallic glazed bugs were maldng darting diagrams 
over the glassy-surfaced eddies. The elm-trees from opposite sides 
locked branches overhead. The pebbly shallows, the moss-covered 
logs, the deep dark fish-pools, all the variegated mosaic of the creek- 
bottom, came through the clear running water so distinctly, making 
depth an unsafe guess-work. Agla6 threw off her hat and clasped her 
hands behind her head with a gesture of pleasure. 

You still enjoy this asked Feltus, curiously, divining a thought 
or anticipating a sentiment. 

Enjoy it ! I love it ! love it ! I knew I loved it, away ; I felt 
it all the time. But^I was afraid to come back to it, afraid it was 
only a recollection or a dream.’^ 

The words ended in a whisper. Her eyes contained them, uttered 
them, in their glad glances of recognition all around. 

It is horrible to be away from home, and to mistrust your recol- 
lection of it, — to dread meeting your people.’^ 

Your people she pronounced it as if she were talking of a clan. 

They said everything would be different, now, to me ; that I could 
never enjoy it as I used to. It hampered my pleasure over there. They 
told me that I was unfitting myself for content, preparing a life of dis- 
satisfaction for myself ; that I was ‘ unhoming’ myself, they called it.!’ 

They ? Who are they ?” 

Oh, all the Americans I met. They laughed at my enthusiasm ; 
they made me believe all the time that I was getting farther and farther 
from my country, my people; that I was getting refined, educated 
beyond them.” Her lips were scornful. “That in future I would 
only be at home over there. At home, away from home !” 

What furnishment for a home had life ever given her, that she 
should long for it with intensity ? A rented house, a dissipated father, a 
delicate mother, a worldly aunt. 

“ Seeing pictures, looking at statues, hearing music, was to unfit me 
for this; me!” She laughed frankly. “If you could see them over 
there in Europe, the Americans, — trying to speak with English intona- 
tion, to eat with French gusto, to talk art like Italians and music like 
Germans, to be comfortable in a hotel, — in perfect beatitude all the time 
over their polish and culture. And so detached, so perceptibly detached 
from home, family, association ; making acquaintances serve for friends. 


EARTHLINGS. 


611 


and fancy-work for real work. You see/’ — looking him straight in the 
face, — you all know me here, my family, my father, my mother, my 
fortune. Over there it was a continual masquerade: the rich Miss 
Middleton. My little fortune fluctuated in a most uncomplimentary 
way to me, I assure you. The more difficult the men were to please, 
the more uninteresting I was found, the greater became my inheritance 
of money ; and the richer I was quoted, the handsomer, the wittier, the 
more charming I became. It was amusing.” Her tone, however, con- 
veyed more bitterness than amusement. She turned away from him to 
lean on the railing. I almost thought I would not be able to see 
America, it would be so insignificant. As for Louisiana, it was an 
absurdity to think of Louisiana.” 

They were both silent again. How many discontented, unhappy 
hours she had passed, leaning just so, on this rickety railing ! — flying 
through the woods, in despair she thought then, in temper she saw now, 
away from some unbearable affront, slight, or contradiction, the Orestian 
torture of the poor, to brood here over a black present and a blacker 
future. All the while, a future was being prepared and beautified for her 
such as she had never dreamed of in the little room under the eaves. 

Poverty makes such cowards of us,” she thought now, in looking 
back calmly on the misery of that time. It destroys even the con- 
fidence of youth. We let our lives shrink with our purses. We cannot 
adapt ourselves to the change from dollar to penny existences. It is 
not the body that suffers, it is the mind. We hunger not for the food 
and clothing of the rich, but for their amenities, the consideration, the 
friendships, the compliments, the caresses, the welcoming attitudes of 
hosts: the proud among us die famished.” She felt a pang of her 
old heart-hunger. 

Now, as then, the fluttering leaves would catch her eye and carry her 
with them in their hesitating downfall. Some dropped to the ants and 
beetles on the bank, some lodged in a mouldering drift, some floated 
along to the miniature whirlpool, which swirled them around and 
around and threw them into the angry little rapids which beat and 
dashed and bruised them on its pebbles : when they were surged and 
heaved into deep water over the sand-ridge, they had a long tortuous 
journey down stream to the bridge, and beyond that the unexplored 
circumundulations of a roving lawless creek. Some leaves dropped 
happily, and floated gayly along, tilting with the current and gleaming 
in the sun. How did they manage it ? If they could only convey the 
secret of their clever escape from shoal and pool to their companions ! 
And the leaves on the branches saw it all ! Did they not tremble and 
shiver with fright at the unknown predestined career? For, though 
they could see what was before them, they were ignorant of their lot 
until the last moment. Were they told to trust God” and fall un- 
qiiestioningly to disaster or success ? Perhaps some of the poor bruised 
ones had by treachery been wafted wrongly ; why should that bright 
green one not have been the sufferer, and this mangled one floated 
off inviolate? She had always identified herself with the unfortunate 
ones. 

It was the difference in destiny that puzzled her then, a revolt 


612 


EARTHLINGS. 


against fancied discrimination. wanted to fight with God aboui 
the administration of His own world She smiled at the recollection 
of the vital importance of these questions once to her : Why should some 
be selected for escape, some for punishment ? Why should one leaf of 
a tree-full be snapped otf now, and myriads retained until autumn ? 

Had she been bribed or reasoned into acquiescence, that the ques- 
tion puzzled her no longer ? 

“We women are never sure of our judgment. We develop or 
lose reasons at the pinch of necessity or privation. We are articulaies.^^ 

Feltus looked at her covertly with increasing interest. She was a 
study to him. 

“ What a sequel there had been in her development, physical and 
mental ! In accomplishment she had gone beyond promise or calcula- 
tion : the Evezin money had evolved the highest possibilities out of 
her. It was the essence, the fragrance of travel that hung around her. 
She had brought back unconsciously in air and manner a subtle gilding 
of her individuality. It revealed points he would never have known 
before. Her face had grown beautiful, not with the vulgar, well-kept, 
prominent beauty of the rich, but with the refined, simple, elusive charm 
of the cultivated. The assimilative souls of women ! In adversity they 
imbibe nourishment where men would starve. In prosperity they 
refine themselves where men fatten. Yes, old Madame Beraud was 
right: ‘Some people bring back St. Peter^s, some Worth.’ He was 
drifting in easy, pleasant generalities. The subject of them turned 
abruptly to leave. 

“ What ! So soon !” he exclaimed, taken by surprise ; she had 
appeared anchored in revery. “ It is early yet.” 

“Yes, but ” 

He arose to accompany her. 

“ No, do not let me take you in. In fact, I prefer going alone.” 
She was already down the bank with the end of her words. Gather- 
ing her dress up in one hand, she soon walked out of sight, character- 
istically leaving her hat forgotten behind her. 

The young man remained, his arm thrown over the back of the 
bench, his eyes fixed where Agla^’s had been before, on the changing, 
dimpling, wrinkling surface of the clear water. He was disappointed : 
he expected, in truth he had prepared himself for, a long conversation. 

“ Her eyes had her unsaid prayers in them ; her lips with the milk- 
foam on them ” 

He as thinking of her as she stood in the dairy window ; but the 
pretty picture disappeared to make room for the obtrusive substitute of 
himself; with consideration of his life, instead of reflection on hers. 
Perhaps the comparison was inevitable ; it was painfully sharp between 
them. Perhaps he was already getting sensitive about life-results. He 
measured what he had missed all these years by what he fancied she 
had obtained. His youthful ideals, the most unwelcome visitants to a 
man, came back to remind him what he once might have obtained, he 
who had aimlessly drifted into a provincial mediocrity. It w^as one of 
those intervals when a crack or a crevice in the world-cement hardened 
around him offered a momentary view of his inside self, and he had a 


EARTHLINGS. 


613 


masculiue cowardice before introspection. The first time such a moment 
came to him was in camp, with a prospect of battle and death before his 
sixteen years. What a delight there was the next day in not being killed ! 
The corroding moments had been coming oftener ever since, but the 
pleasant postscript had been gradually dropped. He had wanted to be 
better than his compeers. He was satisfied now with not being worse. 
Life had not only not led him up to the realization of his hopes and 
ambitions, but was leading him past them. They were still there, 
legitimate hopes, legitimate ambitions, but for others who came after 
him, younger ones, to make their own. His life was to be conducted 
without them. He felt as he had felt when a boy before the battle, 
only it was not a cold corrupting death that frightened him now and 
made him frantically love the unknown, untasted sweets of life. It 
was that slow, cold, gray advance of a different foe, a frantic fear of the 
yet unknown, untasted disappointments of life. 

It was a long way through the circle of such thoughts back to the 
starting-point, — Agla4, and a letter he took from his pocket. He read 
it for the third time that morning. It was dated from New York and 
addressed to Dr. Benedict Jehan; written in an irregular, impulsive 
handwriting : 

My kind Feiend and Guaedian, — As you see, I have lost no 
time in obeying your summons. I cannot describe to you the delight 
that possessed me when I fully realized that I was indeed coming 
home again. It seems incredible that, with all this latent impatience 
and longing in me, I could have stayed away eight years, — might have 
contentedly remained away eight years longer. The preparations once 
begun, each moment was an age until I was finally embarked from 
Havre. Madame Moreau found suitable protection and chaperonage 
for me. She intends passing the summer with her daughter in Brittany. 

I understand your desire to resign the direction of my affairs. I 
should have anticipated it. I should have been the one to offer to 
release you from a burden which none but exalted ideas of friendship 
could have induced you to assume, — a burden for which in a life- 
time I could never sufficiently prove my gratitude. I find no more 
language in which to express my sense of obligation to you, my deep, 
sincere affection for you. In my letters, as in my heart, there are only 
reiterations, which sound stale, but they are always fresh to me, — fresh 
as the water is to the fountain that jets it through the air, although the 
source is ever the same. 

On the ocean, I could not but contrast my going over with my 
coming back. An orphan, poor (for I had not become accustomed to 
my new wealth), sensitive, proud, reckless, and wretched, slowly out- 
growing the illusions of youth and hope, surely, in her surroundings, 
arriving at despair and hypochondriacism ; shoved aside into helpless 
uselessness by the conventions of the society in which I lived ; chained 
to poverty, with a prison-fare of education; imagining myself forgotten 
of God, criticised by men, insulted by women ; suspicious, high-tempered, 
with ambitions and energies fretting away the reserved heart in which 
they were held, sealed. And now — but you will see, I can tell better 


614 


EARTHLINGS. 


than write you, the vast profits to body and soul of the last eight 
years. 

There is nothing like the ocean, I imagine, for preaching God. 
What had He not done for me ? what had I done for Him ? 

It may have been the storm, — the sharp, short threats uttered on 
one day and almost fulfilled the next ; but the question which came as a 
Sabbath platitude stayed and tormented me. I became restless and 
uneasy, almost unhappy, and pined for land. 

On the last evening of the voyage there was a general reunion on 
deck of all the passengers. It was so calm and quiet the greatest inva- 
lids could venture from their cabins. Such an unpacking of curious 
people as there took place ! Such surprising discoveries in the way of 
old scraps of acquaintanceship, by people who knew anybody. I of 
course was out of this, as usual. Since I left home, I am the alien and 
stranger in every crowd. There was an effusion of cordiality that 
contaminated the most reserved, a generous disdain of consequences in 
a generous indulgence of politeness. 

I happened to be seated near two old gentlemen. I had often 
noticed them before, talking together, always with the same vivacity 
of gesture, the same responsiveness of expression. They used the 
familiar French of New Orleans. I found out they were druggists 
there. They were polite enough to include me in some general remarks, 
until they found out that I was a fellow-citizen, and all homeward 
bound ; then we almost grew intimate. Naturally, we talked about 
New Orleans and its inhabitants. Their long experience there seemed 
to embrace every person or event of any consequence for half a century. 
They soon left me behind in their duet of reminiscences. I became 
intensely interested in them and their narratives. You would have 
enjoyed them yourself. I ransacked my memory for names familiar in 
childhood, for fear their material would give out. No danger! On 
they went ; I believe they could have continued a week without stop- 
ping. At last, I was forgotten by them completely, as the darkness 
hid me from view. I wondered how they could carry such long memo- 
ries around with them, or what pleasure they could have in relating 
them ; laughing sometimes until the tears ran down their fat faces. 
Could they not see, not feel the sadness of the history, all told ? Look- 
ing at the stars and listening, I came by degrees to the conclusion that 
a general condemnation had been pronounced against my native State. 
A ^ qu^est devenu^ or a^vous souvenez-vous’ brought invariably the answer, 
as fatal as the judgment of Minos. Tragic death, want, disease, mis- 
fortunes of every kind, had been meted out for no apparent cause other 
than ^ the will of God,’ as the one piously said, the other, sceptically, 
^ fatality.’ If any escaped, it was to fall into crime and disgrace. If 
there were any exceptions, my old resurrectionists had never heard of 
them, or found them too uninteresting to remember. 

And yet an exception was there, sitting by them. I had been 
saved ; more than saved, — endowed. My good fortune had bloomed 
for me right out of that swamp of tears and misery. In a flash it 
came over me. Had God sent those old men to talk in my hearing ? 
Had He sent those first doubts to assail me ? He makes me feel what 


EARTHLINGS. 


615 


He has done for me, He makes me feel what I owe Him. He unloads 
the experience of these men for me ! It is strange that I became rich, 
when others became poor, I who had always been poor ; and rich from 
an uncle who had let my mother suffer penury, and not only penury, 
but, you know, — the dependence that always held shame for her. 

“ I do not know what I should have done that night if vast schemes 
of benefaction had not come to me, to soothe me, — visions of good, 
visions of God’s will. 

Sir, you must help me ; you see what I mean to do, what God 
means me to do. My aunt will not approve ; but am I to be pampered 
in wealth for which others are starving ? 

Thank God that He gave me money but withheld sordidness. A 
small income will suffice for my wants, more than suffice for my 
happiness. 

Always your devoted and grateful 

Agla]6. 

I forgot to say that I remain here a day or two with my party. 
I shall be with my aunt until you are ready to see me in the city.” 

An irregular handwriting had added, in pencil, ^^'My dear boy, 
attend to all this for me. You are on the spot. I did not mean her 
to return until autumn. Folly for her to think of risking herself in 
the city during the summer. Explain my infirmities to her. I can- 
not answer this. Intended turning it all over to you anyway. The 
rest, — nonsense. B. J.” 

He had pulled another letter out of his pocket at the same time, — 
thin, cheap paper and envelope. It was written in French : 

My dear Mr. Feltus, — How we miss you ! Every evening 
when you do not come, it gets worse and worse. Papa is well, but he 
seems to have taken an extra vow of silence. 

Madame Dominique sends you her respects : so do Eoland and 
Perro. 

Do not forget your promise to bring me a branch of green from 
the great woods. I try to think how the trees look growing in the 
great woods, but I cannot. It is hot, hot, here. 

Your little friend, who thinks of you a great deal, 

Misette. 

“P.S. — You will excuse the French ; I am forgetting my English 
since you are away.” 


CHAPTER III. 

Misette was out on her little roof-balcony ; leaning back to look 
up at the sky, singing. Slate and tiles formed the ground-work of 
her landscape, chimneys and lightning-rods the upright features. All 
around her roofs, — peaked, ridged, arched, gabled, patched over to keep 
VoL. XLII.— 40 


616 


EARTHLINGS. 


out rain, punched out with ventilators, doors, windows, by the upward- 
creeping humanity inside, grubbing for light and air ; drained by gutters 
that received soot and dust as well as rain, and conveyed it all to the 
cupola-covered cisterns, with little galleries likeMisette’s moored to garret 
windows, like boats to a wharf, floating on the air almost as they floated 
on the water. There were one or two flat roofs which bore pompous 
little terraces, left over from the old time when all these houses belonged 
to the rich and fashionable ; far more commodious lounging-places than 
hers, which was just long enough for her to stretch at the full of her 
short length and look up into the heavens, singing in her little low 
filmy voice anything that came into her head ; 

“ Now who will be my bird ? 

And who will be my flower ? 

Oln the singing that was heard I 
Oh, the permme I like a shower.” 

It was her own little song she sang, her favorite one because it was the 
first one she had ever made. It had come to her years ago, when she 
was a little girl ; not that she was much more in appearance now. It 
commenced, — 

“ When we are to be born, 

God calls the souls together. 

Oh, the glory of the morn I 
Oh, the gladness of the weather I” 

And she had composed the air too ; that is, the air had come first, and 
brought the words along. That was the way with all her songs ; when 
she began to sing she hardly knew what was coming. 

“ And who will be my star ? 

And who will be my tree ? 

Oh, the lights from near and far I 
Oh, the rushing like a sea !” 

If she thought about them they would not come to her at all, as she 
had explained so often to Mr. Feltus, who wanted her to write them 
down for him. 

The street cut through the houses a deep chasm ; the earth-sounds 
passed by her, rising into the air, fainter, finer, purified, dissolving like 
incense rising in the church. 

How low and sweet it must be when it gets to heaven !” she 
thought. can hardly tell the crying from the laughing of the 

children. I can hardly hear the cursing and swearing at the coffee- 
house, and the foolishness of the drunken men, and the quarrelling of 
the women. Perhaps it all sounds like praying and singing up there. 
It is good the earth is so far off. Perrons voice, too, — surely they will 
take him for a woman ! — an old woman 

By turning her head to one side, she could see the old cathedral 
clock with the defaced dial, which looked as if Time had maliciously 
flicked it wdth his scythe in passing. Behind the cathedral, pointing 
like fine needles, tracing the river-course up in the air, were the spars 
and masts of ships. The gray embattlements of the opera-house were 


EARTHLINGS. 


617 


on the other side of her. There were gaps for flower-gardens in 
the houses round about her, and on some evenings it was as if the 
flowers were ascending bodily, so thick was the air with their fragrance. 
The great spaces were the ])ublic squares, green with the tops of trees, 
that must have nested children instead of birds, from the amount of 
chirruping of their shrill voices. 

But when the sun was setting as it set in summer, when the masts 
out on the river looked as if the ships were aflame beneath them, she 
could look neither to the right nor the left, but straight up at the 
heavens ; and the songs would die on her lips for awe at the miracle, 
the glorification, the transubstantiation of a whole empyrean at once. 

The west rolling out wave after wave of color ; overflowing, sub- 
merging, possessing, height beyond height; the east, glowing and 
gleaming at sight of it, like the faces of yearning angels outside the 
gate of Paradise ; the great cloud mountains moving for joy, as the 
real mountains did in the Old Testament, breaking, dissolving, and 
coming together again, mixing and mingling their shapes until the color 
reached them too. Oh, then the heavens were arrayed as if for the trans- 
lation of a prophet, the ascension of a Saviour ; disks of gold flashing 
out like the cast-down aureoles of welcoming saints and martyrs ! After 
that the rippling away, — the amethyst ocean over pearly shallows by 
rosy cliffs and silver strands. Then the unveiling of snowy minarets, 
domes, arches, the aerial architecture of some celestial city; perhaps 
the mirage of heaven itself! 

It was very beautiful ! 

Before the sky was ready, with darkness, the first star came, a faint, 
timid, twinkling silver speck; hesitating like an awkward guest ar- 
rived before the time ; balancing in and out of brightness, like bril- 
liants under the rose veil of a ballet-dancer. 

Soon they came in couples, scores, hundreds, myriads ; if the night 
were fine, not an inch of darkness left without its star; the grand 
constellations taking their places, the planets stationing themselves, the 
little stars huddling together in the Milky Way. 

Madame Dominique’s parrot Perro was gibbering good-night in 
five different languages to the passers-by. Boland, the mocking-bird 
of the one-legged soldier, was emptying his throat of a last medley, 
welcoming the return of his master with his peddling-pack of matches. 
It was a gay, pleasant hour, and a gay, pleasant world. 

The box of reseda on the window-sill ventured its faint apologetic 
perfume : it made a bouquet with the Grand Due” jasmine and the 
rose-geranium stiff* in its wooden stays. The carnation, which had 
drooped from the sun all day, began to straighten up ; the Provence 
rose-bush, under the stimulant of coffee-grounds to the roots, had 
brought one bloom to perfection ; there it was, a triumphant refutation 
of the oft-bandied reproach of sterility. 

It was Madame Dominique, the landlady, who had given all 
these flowers to Misette, commencing with the rose-geranium, the 
year she had advised Monsieur Omer, Misette’s father, to have 
Misette’s dresses lengthened. She brought the pot up-stairs herself 
Of course Monsieur Omer at first had refused it, offered to pay for 


618 


EARTHLINGS. 


it, was haughty, reserved, dignified, and ungracious to the last. 
The good-natured, fat landlady directed her short, quick steps across 
the floor to the window, her absurd figure rounding in front, 
straight behind, a gibbous moon in a hlouse-volante. Paying no atten- 
tion whatever to refusal, offer, haughtiness, dignity, or reserve, she 
placed the pot on the sill. There, Monsieur Omer ! When you get 
to be an old woman like me, you will know that that,^^ nodding to 
Misette, must have her flowers just as she has her bread and coffee.’^ 

It was Madame Dominique also who had given the piece of carpet 
to spread on the gallery for Misette to lie on when she found that no 
coaxing would induce her to sit in a chair to look at the stars. 

Young girls^ ideas ! They have their own little ideas. It is not 
I who would attempt to pull them up, for example ! they might have 
roots in the soul ! I have known young girls die from that V When 
it came to young girls, Madame Dominique was full of tyrannical 
theories. 

Misette had her own little ideas about the stars. She only knew them 
as she saw them this way of an evening, never in an astronomy. If 
her ideas were not new, strong, nor original, they were her own, and 
she loved them, as all young girls love the volatile fancies that fly over 
their fresh souls, like butterflies flying over the fresh fields of flowers 
in spring. They fascinated her, she secretly encouraged them, there 
seemed to be no end of them. Nay, under one large thought (as under 
one large flower) whole broods would come out, at a touch, pretty, 
wonderful, fragile. 

If the glorious constellations and resplendent planets were ships to 
her, with spreading sails and noble masts, sailing on to the gates of 
heaven to land a precious cargo ticketed from earth, manned by star- 
crowned angels, the white decks filled with white, tired, shrouded bodies, 
it was only the myth of an isolated girl, living in a garret-room, with 
a mighty river and ships always in sight. If the Milky Way were to 
her the broad high-road for poor foot-travellers, for old men and women, 
clean, pale, and brave in their grave-best-clothes ; for market men and 
women ; for young girls, milliners’ girls, dress-makers’ girls, in their stiff 
starched muslins and long hair hanging from under white wreaths ; for 
the little babies, rigid in tucks and embroidery (they had to be carried by 
angels) ; for the little children, so wild and dirty one day in the streets, so 
clean and quiet the next in their coffins ; she was only fixing the expen- 
ditures of a heavenly journey, as her own earthly journey, and that of 
those about her, had been fixed, by poverty. When she asked, “ Did 
not the good God send mothers to fetch their children, and children to 
fetch their parents? That should be the way! To have the coffin 
opened by a mother with angel wings,” — it was the question of the 
motherless one. 

Perhaps some of them did not want to leave the earth ; then 
the dew could be their tears, the stars their eyes, looking down, 
looking down for those they had left. Or maybe the stars were their 
souls, leading them on, as they had led the erring bodies all through 
life.” The details at times were very perplexing. Mr. Feltus was the 
only one who could ever suggest a satisfactory arrangement of them ; 


EARTHLINGS. 


619 


Mr. Feltus was famous for that. And Mr. Feltus liked her songs, too. 
Next to singing them to herself, she enjoyed singing them to Mr. Feltus. 

Ships had always filled a great, part in her contracted life. Every 
Sunday morning it was their weekly pleasure-trip, her father’s and hers, 
to walk down the few blocks that separated them from the river and 
promenade the levee, looking at the ships. She had first learned her 
letters spelling out their names, and all the geography she knew was 
picked up following them from port to port ; and her father knew much 
history, romance, and mythology connected with ships. As for the 
countries they went to, he talked about them as Madame Dominique 
talked about the stalls in the French Market. It was curious to think 
of so many countries outside of and beyond New Orleans ! 

The grand German line of steamers she only knew in passing ; for 
they anchored far up-town. But the British steamers, and the Spanish 
with their gaudy flag and Biscayan sailors, and the French, — she knew 
them well, could recite their names and their tonnage as well as any 
maritime reporter, and could have corrected any agent in a mistake 
about the time of their arrival and departure. These, however, were 
not the vessels she carried in her heart. Her predilections were all for 
the tramps,” those who were owned by no line,” who did not come 
or go by schedule, but roved at their own free will, whose crews were 
not uniformed or drilled, but a picked-up rag-bag collection of clothes 
and bodies v^hich none but a “ tramp” ship would enroll. 

There was no one to meet these wandering vagabonds of vessels, 
no fanfare of reception at the wharf when they arrived ; they slipped 
into their moorings in a shamefaced way, with their old-fashioned 
hulks, their patched sides and unkempt rigging, and tied up depre- 
catingly to wait for any venture in the way of freight, — to South 
America or to Norway, it made no difference whither, insured or un- 
insured ; that was a land-risk for merchants ; they were simply beasts 
of burden, camels of the ocean. 

The poor Madeleine de France, — what an old adventuress she 
looked like ! she who must have been so coquettish and pretty in her 
fresh new paint ; there were only dabs of it still left here and there in 
unexposed places. Her weather-beaten sides were wrinkled in their 
scrawny age ; in truth, the Madeleine de France resembled nothing so 
much now as the old, yellow, thin, wrinkled white woman who did 
scrubbing for Madame Dominique. She was so poor, this white woman, 
she even scrubbed for negroes and took in their washing ; she was an 
old tramp too, and the day had been, as all in that quarter knew, when 
the paint had been pretty and fresh on her cheeks, and her rigging the 
finest money could buy in New Orleans. That was when that wretched 
bald head was covered by golden curls ; now an ugly bandanna hid the 
naked places between the gray hair. 

The Friga was different ; she was old, but respectable ; the Friga, 
who came all the way from Copenhagen. She had a figure-head, — a 
woman with bare breasts, and head bending forward under the bow ; 
her eyes looking down into the water, her hair blown behind. Misette 
at night thought of the wooden woman, the waves dashing over her, 
the fins of fish scraping against her, whales and sea-serpents swimming 


620 


EARTHLINGS. 


around her, her eyes staring through the storm, the lightning, the 
thunder, the green abysm of the waves, the white foam dashing sea- 
weed and shell-fish and crawling soft gelatinous life over her. It 
might be one day the Friga would go into the storm and never come 
out, and the wooden woman would sink to the bottom of the ocean, 
through the depths her eyes had been fathoming so long. If she could 
only be saved and brought to land, and stood up like the sign-woman 
at the macaroni-shop, the Italia’^ ! She had been sand-papered and 
painted, and there was not a shop on the levee that could compete in 
custom with hers. Of all the tramps,’^ Misette knew the Madeleine 
de France and the Friga best of all. There was not a year she could 
remember that they did not come to New Orleans two or three times. 

The stars, indeed, could be nothing finer than ships, and the Milky 
Way lost nothing by being compared to the Mississippi. 

It was always gay around the Mosquito Fleet the Sicilian and 
Italian fruiters, the luggers that traded up and down the coast, the 
oyster-boats, the fishing-boats, the sloops that went to the islands, the 
variegated clothes and the variegated faces, the bananas and oranges, the 
smell of fish, the bunches of coral and sea-weed, — it W'as a floating 
French Market. The river could be seen better here than anywhere, 
with the skiffs crossing it, and the little sail-boats, — one big red or one 
big white sail, that was all ; but they flew along ! 

“ To go ! to go ! — in a ship, in a schooner, in a skitf, even ! — what 
a destiny that would be 

Misette, my child, come in. You stay out there too long at night.” 

Yes, papa.” 

It was Madame Dominique, without doubt, who had waylaid him 
on his way up-stairs with one of her continual recommendations ; 

Too much night-air for the little one, monsieur ! She is not like 
us : she absorbs at her age.” 

Ah, heavens ! I have begged you so often ! Why cannot you 
take care of yourself?” 

His hands were trembling with excitement, like a woman’s, as he 
helped her through the window. 

“ I will have the gallery destroyed ! I will have it taken away ! 
A constant temptation ! A constant danger !” going into one of his 
tempestuous little gusts of passion. 

He was not much taller than she. They were completely unlike. 
She belonged to the family of the dead wife of Omer. There was 
nothing in resemblance to suggest his parentage of her. She was one 
of the children that sometimes come to fathers from a long distance 
back in genealogy, a reversion to a type alien and forgotten. She was 
almost a blonde, with light-brown hair and light-brown eyes, with a 
skin that showed shadings and tracery underneath. Her face was 
round, and her chin pointed ; her hair grew far down on her neck, and 
stood out around her temples in little curls. 

His narrow, thin, sallow face was lengthened abnormally by the 
deep furrows between the wrinkles drawn from chin to forehead as if 
by some machine of torture. His black hair had become gray, — not 
the easy whitening of one sudden grief, but through some long mar- 


EARTHLINGS. 


621 


tyrdom of years. The dry black eyes had receded under the deep 
saffron lids sparsely fringed with black. The eyebrows described two 
accentuated arches over the glazed desiccated skin of his high forehead. 
His unshaven chin scraped Misette^s face as she returned his embrace. 

But, little papa, I was waiting for you. You see, I am all 
ready. It is you who should have been earlier.’^ Misette was always 
calm when he was nervous. 

When they had lighted the lamp, together, her copy-books were 
found waiting with open leaves for him. 

My little Misette ! My good little girl He stroked her hair, 
repentant for his crossness. 

It was Madame Dominique who, with her advice and warnings, 
was continually demolishing his self-confidence. She was always in 
dread of some catastrophe; always pointing out some eventuality to 
him of which he had been mercifully kept in ignorance ; and there had 
been so little mercy shown to his ignorance through life, and he had so 
little self-confidence left ! , 

Shall we begin, papa 

She pushed his chair towards him, and took hers, handing him a 
copy-book, for their regular evening farce of a lesson. 

No, you correct the exercise this evening ; give me the grammar. 
Where are we? Well, repeat the rule of the past participle.’^ 

The constituency which Misette represent^ in his wife’s ancestry 
could not have been remarkable for avidity of book-knowledge ; par- 
ticipial regulations must have been a congenital defect. 

But, papa, what difference does it make in your language whether 
it is spelt right or not ?’’ She would bring examples to prove that 
from the sound one could not tell a grammarian saint from a sinner. 

It was not only his basis of education with her, but his sole educa- 
tion, the constituency his intellect represented in the Omer ancestry, 
making it all the difference in the world which way a word was spelt 
or a man dressed. 

Repeat the rule of the past participle conjugated with haveJ* 
partidpe passe ... You see I know the rule I’^ triumphantly. 

“And the application? Let me see your copy-book. Ah, my 
daughter, will you never learn that the feminine noun requires a femi- 
nine participle, if the noun precedes the participle ?’’ 

“ Ah, the sentiment was so beautiful, papa ! how could I recollect ? 
And a feminine noun, and a feminine participle, and masculine nouns, 
and masculine participles ! — as if words had sex !’^ 

It was Mr. Feltus’s habit to come in and interrupt them about this 
time. 

“ Now, the past participle conjugated with to 6e.” 

“ Le partidpe pass6 conjugue . . In a thousand years she would 
never get this right with the exceptions. There was a footstep coming 
up-stairs; could it be Mr. Feltus? He was not expected from the 
country until to-morrow evening. 

“ Well, go on, Misette.^’ 

partidpe ” It must be Mr. Feltus, because no one else 

came up those stairs at night. How strange her papa had not heard 


622 


EARTHLINGS. 


it ! She could hear Mr. Feltus’s step from the time he entered the 

front door. Conjugut avec Nearer and nearer. If her papa 

were not there she would jump up and see. Her papa was so correct, 

so particular as to tenue” “ Conjugu^ avec Ure ” Ah, his hand 

was on the door ! now papa heard him. But no ! that was not Mr. 
Feltus’s step, that was not Mr. Feltus^s knock ! 

It was some person, a man whom she had never seen, whom her 
papa did not know. She had to go and shut herself up in her little 
room until the interview was over. It was well Mr. Feltus had not 
come : he could not have been received. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Madame Dominique’s first responsibility in life was to fill her 
house with lodgers ; the second, to fill her head with information about 
them. A denizen of that sphere in life where references are not ex- 
changed, she had only her own astuteness for armor against the car- 
nivorous monsters who creep in among lodgers to prey upon the un- 
protected woman. A first short payment in advance gave her the 
time, and her system the means to tell the time advantageously. An 
old lodger, to her, was a well-thumbed book, and she had been in the 
business so long that a new one presented only that slight variation on 
an old story which in books wears out the healthiest literary appetite. 

The amount of information she could obtain in a short time about a 
person was a testimonial to the shrewdness of her system, for w'hich in 
her prayers she thanked and in her alms paid St. Joseph, a most relia- 
ble adjutant of women in their secular affairs. She never asked gratu- 
itous information, but always bought it with an equivalent, and if she 
paid for it with counterfeit coin it was not from dishonest motives, but 
because in the opinion of the saint it was better for her to keep her own 
capital intact, and not waste valuable knowledge for gossip currency. 

She naturally, considering the system, passed for credulous among 
her friends, and no one had more, or more efficient ones. When she 
went to the French Market in the morning, with her basket on her 
arm, her greetings were as continuous as those the rising sun elicits 
for the flag of Great Britain. As year by year her hlouse-volaide 
became more distended, the pleats shallower, and the market-basket 
more out of proportion to the development, one might believe that 
she fattened on good will and grew with consideration. Her friends 
certainly never let her lack expressions of either. But they bewailed 
her faculty of getting every story wrong and mixing people up 
unrecognizably. As for her ridiculous ideas, which at the same 
time were obstinate ideas, her persistence angered them often into 
superfluous action, — when, for instance, she would never give up a 
position unless moved bodily therefrom, never retract an assertion 
unless confronted with witnesses and faced down with authorities, — 
well, she was a good woman, and a most reliable source of sympathy 
and charity in misfortune, and each one had an interest, to say the least, 
in protecting her. How she would have been duped without them, how 


EARTHLINGS. 


623 


much her business success was owing to them, she never knew, for they 
were considerate enough never to let her overhear them ; but it was a 
current theme of conversation not only with all the hucksters, but with 
their children. The day after Mr. Omer took possession of his rooms 
she maintained all the way to the market, and through it from the Indian 
squaws to the flower-sellers, that the lodger in her garret was a French 
nobleman in disguise, or some great political refugee. 

He came to see my rooms,’’ shrugging her shoulders, which drew 
her gown up to her ankles. Ah ! said I to myself, where shall I take 
him? In the yard with the Bruns and Dugas? Ma foi, no ! he is a 
gentleman. He had a little child with him, a little angel for sweetness 
and beauty. The first floor. ^ Higher up, madame.’ The second 
floor. ‘ Higher up, madame.’ The third floor. ‘ Higher up, madame.’ 
Sapristi! he must have had no purse at all. I began to sweat, not 
from the fatigue of mounting the steps, but fear for my pay. ‘ What 
is St. Joseph sending me now?’ I cried to myself. But” — arresting 
herself — “ that is what he is. I am not deceived. Old Dominique is 
not a fool ! She knows a nobleman when she sees him. She can tell 
an aristocrat from the canaille. Omer, Saint-Omer, — that is what his 
name is. He! let me buy the Bee and see what great man is missing 
in Europe !” 

Madame S4raphine, the octoroon, and the proprietress of the legiti- 
mate “ chambres garnies,” refuge of all such characters, was very much 
excited over this communication in full market by Madame Dominique : 
it was an insinuation against herself. She busied herself two whole 
days out of pique, and took her opportunity — a public one — of in- 
forming Madame Dominique that her nobleman in disguise, her polit- 
ical refugee, her great European, was a Monsieur Omer, a Creole, some 
insignificant, if not worse, member of the old Creole family of that 
name; and he worked, the whole world knew that he worked, in a 
printing-office on Chartres Street, as Madame Dominique herself might 
see by looking out of her fourth-story window ; for the back room of 
the office came through to their street, and there he sat at a desk in his 
shirt-sleeves. And that was the reason he took Madame Dominique’s 
room, when he could get others just as good, if not better : he wanted 
to be where he could oversee from his office. Nobleman ! Much 
she knows of noblemen !” 

Then he was a distinguished writer, — oh, but a writer known in 
France, a true man of letters. One could easily divine that by looking 
at him. There was no lack of contradiction to this, and proof, too, 
that he was no better than a clerk to sit at a desk and receive his salary 
at the end of the week, and make his grand salute to the head of the 
establishment for it, just like the porter, for that matter. 

Of all the people in the world, Madame Dominique took Art^mise 
the colored hair-dresser into her confidence, and under bond of secrecy 
whispered her suspicions of some mysterious intrigue. Who is the 
mother of that child, eh ? I have watched him ! We know what men 
are ! and opera-singers, and ballet-dancers. We women ought to have 
four eyes in our heads, and then I believe we would be deceived ! As 
for looks, I pay no attention to looks. The greater saints they look, 


624 


EARTHLINGS. 


the greater sinners they are ! There was something about him, and the 
child, — something, in fact She took a pinch of snuff, and shrugged 
her shoulders. 

Such are the exigencies of their profession, and such has been the 
breeding of habit, that hair-dressers have been known to fabricate scan- 
dal for the entertainment of their cUerdUe if they could not procure it 
otherwise. Judge, then, of Art6mise’s delight at such a bonanza. She 
employed her time and tongue well. In two days she had the whole 
story from beginning to end, — the name of Mr. Omer’s father and 
mother, date of his birth, marriage, name of wife, birth of child, place 
of former residence, what the poor woman had died of, who gave her 
the last sacrament, who was at the funeral, where she was buried, with 
innumerable details, and personal addenda. 

On this, Madame Dominique confided to the veal-butcher, Michel, 
the next day, her theory as a fact that Monsieur Omer had once been 
enormously wealthy, but had lost his money, one hundred thousand 
at least, in Confederate bonds ; offering to pawn her eyes as security 
for the truth of it. 

And it is a shame, Michel, that those rich Confederates up-town 
do not do something for him ; a patriot ! a martyr ! up in a garret ! 
When I tell you the cheapest room in my house ! It would have been 
better to have died on the field of battle ! I warrant he was something 
high up in the Confederacy,’^ delicately turning over the sweetbreads, 
and admiring them pantomimically. 

One hundred thousand dollars in Confederate bonds ! That was 
enough to set the whole meat-market talking ! Butler, Beauregard, 
Stonewall, Jeff Davis, the war broke out again among the States. 

One hundred thousand dollars for one’s country ! That was a patri- 
otism that shamed death.” 

There is no such thing as calm discussion in a market. A good- 
morning” as soft as calves’ brains is as apt as not to end in a good-by” 
from the cleaver. 

The old rahai£^ at the end was the only one who took no part 
in the discussions ; he never did ; but while the others were vocifer- 
ating he began to rummage among the newspapers under his counter. 
For years he had been picking them up from the pavement, reading, 
smoothing, folding, and laying them away in his caboose ; but what he 
locked up there was first locked up in his memory. There was nothing 
he could not answer if he want^, this little old man whose face and 
head shone pink under his thin white hair and beard. He found the 
paper, creased the place, and thrust it into the hands of one of the 
tribunes presiding over the settlement of the battle of Shiloh. 

Madame Dominique had more than she bargained for the following 
day; such a laughter as greeted her when Michel clapped her on her 
fat shoulder and shoved the paper under her eyes ! One hundred 
thousand dollars in Confederate bonds ! Five thousand dollars in the 
commission business, and bankruptcy on that ! 

So far, so good. 

Ambrosie, come in here I” The landlady one day stopped the 
negro woman, the furnisher of meals, on her way up-stairs, drew her 


EARTHLINGS. (525 

into her chamber and shut the door, and then told her a tale of the 
meanness, sordidness, and selfishness of the garret-lodger : 

‘‘ Cannot afford to take a room lower down ; pays me as if his pica- 
yunes were heart’s blood. And see what he does with his money! 
One, two, three, four, five,” — counting the tins ; a five-story dinner ! 
And how much does that poor little child get, do you think ?” 

Ambrosie could not wait for the sentence to end. It was by her 
good cooking, not her good temper, that she made her money : 

Here, here, here,” pulling the tins apart. See, see, see, and sat- 
isfy yourself. Five-story dinner 1 Do you expect them to eat coals 
and ashes, that you count in the furnace ? Here, empty I — empty ! 
Here, soup, a piece of houiUi ; here, some rice and red beans. What 
more do you expect for fifteen cents ? Cutlets and green peas ? These 
shrimps ? — they are for ‘ lagniappe,^ He eat it all I He ! He is not 
even here when I bring it, as you know. She eats first, and what is 
left, he eats. It is by his orders I stay to make her eat. So much the 
better if it looks like a five-story dinner. For me, I have pride. Walk 
through the streets with two tins, as if I served beggars, ha 1” When 
she got out into the corridor again, she said, quite loud enough for 
Madame Dominique to hear, Those people I — they have no compre- 
hension of ladies and gentlemen.” 

That was nine years ago. Other lodgers came, claimants for hers 
and her friends’ attentions. She told her results to Mr. Feltus, the only 
person in the world whom St. Joseph encouraged perfect confidence in. 
He was in the house by right, — the agent of the owner, old Dr. Jehan. 
The doctor had brought him to her himself the year the war closed ; he 
always had occupied the best room, and she had nursed him through the 
yellow fever. Some persons told her that Mr. Feltus was to be the 
doctor’s heir; he was just the same as his son, going to see him every 
day. But that wife over in France, she might have something to say. 

When it came to Dr. Jehan, and Dr. Jehan’s wife, there were 
stories enough about them to furnish a novel ; for in New Orleans it is 
as impossible to keep a secret as to preserve an incognito. The people 
and the conditions of life seem determined against it. 


CHAPTEJR V. 

George Feltus rang Dr. Jehan’s bell ; he was just from the train, 
and carried a branch of oak leaves in his hand. The uncomfortable 
little brass knob lay like a plum in a brazen porringer which carried 
for garnishment around the rim the doctor’s whole name, Benedict 
H. Jehan, M.D.” — the letters so evenly disposed that they read round 
and round the circle, without beginning or end. The high state of 
polish had not been maintained without disadvantage ; the brass had 
dropped out in places, diphthonging one letter onto the other, and 
destroying their alphabetical identification ; very much impairing the 
efficiency of the door-plate as an informant, — if New Orleans had ever 
been benighted enough to need information about the residence of Dr. 
Benedict Jehan. 


626 


EARTHLINGS. 


With the regularity of habit, Feltus’s thoughts responded as quickly 
as the bell to the jerk. 

How he had once looked forward to the time when he would be tall 
enough merely to touch that shining knob with one finger, — then to 
pull it by himself! And the first day he tried it, braced for purchase 
on that inadequate granite ledge, — he could still feel the soreness of the 
lump at the back of his head after his surprising summersault back- 
wards. The humorous remarks of the gentleman who had picked him 
up, the mockery of the street-children, — it was one of the mortifica- 
tions which had lasted with pristine poignancy. Ovide diverted it this 
time by opening the door. 

How is the doctor Feltus asked, anxiously. 

The old negro, the seventy-five-year-old boy’^ who had driven the 
doctor’s buggy from time immemorial, shrugged his shoulders, elevated 
his eyebrows, and pursed up his mouth : he was an exact, ludicrous 
imitation of his master. 

So so, Mr. George.” 

“ The paralysis has not extended ?” 

No, sir ; that is better : he can move his hand a little.” 

The office door to the right was closed ; the entire lower floor had 
a deserted, evacuated look. 

“ Up-stairs, of course ?” 

In the back-room, sir.” 

The old fellow made a hesitating movement to preeede him. 

^‘Madame is here,” — trying inefiectually to make it sound un- 
important. 

What !” exclaimed Feltus, standing still. 

Madame, — Madame Jehan.” 

Why I When did she arrive ?” 

About a week ago, sir.” 

Feltus stood still, holding the balustrade. He sank his voice to a 
whisper. How did it happen, Ovide ?” 

God knows, Mr. George.” 

Is she in ?” 

“ No, sir ; she is at church. She goes to church three times a day.” 

Has any one called ? Does she see any one ?” 

“ No, sir, — no one but the priests and Sisters.” 

^^Well!” he exclaimed again, preparing for another question; but 
Ovide was already up-stairs, holding the door open for him. 

The invalid was in an easy-chair before the open window, looking 
out into the garden below, his face set and serious until the young man 
came within reach of his torpid hearing. 

“ Ah ! there you are, George ! I did not hear you come in.” 

He never greeted except with his voice. There was a long silence. 
Feltus came in front of him, leaned against the side of the window, 
and looked out also, — inquiries about health being strictly prohibited. 

“ I was looking out of the window at the sunset there. A pretty 
nice sort of a world, where sunsets like that are furnished free.” He 
attempted to make a motion with his hand, and failed. He broke out 
irascibly, Pshaw I what miserable, pitiful, piddling attempts at dying ! 


EARTHLINGS. 


627 


Coming into the world is humiliating, disgusting enough, but at least 
one comes in a baby and does not realize the situation. But to go out 

with all one’s faculties, all one’s dignities, — like a Great God ! 

how can a man hold his head up when he thinks of mid wives and 
undertakers !” 

He leaned his head back against his chair. In the strong cross- 
light he was ghastly pale ; but the deep wrinkles across the forehead, 
the tufting eyebrows, the colossal bald head, looked like some exag- 
gerated make-up for the stage, a masquerade of the bold, strong 
lineaments. The prominent blue eyes were still incisive and inflam- 
mable ill their flabby, dark orbits ; the broad mouth was slightly settled, 
but the full lips, softened by relish for life, were still pink and fleshy, 
and quick at the corners for the twitch that went with a certain gleam 
of the eye to give the humorous cue to his conversation. His shirt 
was unbuttoned and thrown open, the neck and chest bared to the slight 
evening breeze. 

I wanted to show you,” changing his voice and tone, that fig-tree 
yonder. Did you ever see such a beauty, as she stands there with all 
her bouquet of fruit? You can see the ripeness from here oozing 
through the purple skin to be gilded on top by the sun into sugar. 
To-morrow they will crack with their sweetness, and show their rosy 
flesh to the core, — the incarnation of a poet’s dream,” — his lips closed 
as softly over the words as if they were the fruit itself, — of a lover’s 
hope !” He was forgetting his illness when he could talk this way. 

Pure celeste, she is. Old Vigneaud gave me the cutting ; he said he 
would back it against anything in the city for flavor and yield ; he 
gave it to me just before he went filibustering with Lopez, to be shot in- 
Cuba.” 

You don’t seem to have many roses.” 

No ; I’ve had no luck with my roses this year. The fool things 
wore themselves out with blooming early in the spring, — ruined their 
constitutions. They always do it. Nothing but malformations after- 
wards.” He nodded towards a bunch at his elbow. Not a perfect 
one there,” handling them with exquisite delicacy of touch with his 
refined fingers, — fingers that in their time had been adored and kissed 
by suffering ladies. 

You can no more restrain a rose than a woman, and one has just 
about as much appreciation of common sense as the other. The most 
provoking, coquettish, extravagant, devilishly fascinating flower in the 
world ! Kich, pampered heiresses, spending their fortunes of color 
and perfume as carelessly as queens.” 

The fig-tree had the post of honor in the centre of the garden. 
Broad, red-bricked walks led from it between the soft, rich beds of the 
luxurious roses. The partition- walls at the end and sides were hidden 
under vines. 

^^The artichokes seem to be coming on finely,” ventured Feltus, 
pointing to a hedge against the wall. His remarks on the doctor’s 
garden were always something of a hazardous venture. 

Yes, sensible creatures ! No hurry about them. No fear of their 
overdoing it ! Just leave them alone, and don’t bother them, and they 


628 


EARTHLINGS. 


will quietly plod along and fatten up their hearts for you ; let them 
have their own way, and they will do it out of respect to you ; but fool 
around them and attempt to force them, and they will give you thistles 
every time for the ass that you are. IVe never seen it fail. IVe a 
respect for artichokes ! Good God, George ! to think of a kingdom of 
heaven without eating and drinking in it ! — a place too good for arti- 
chokes ! Egad ! if an angel ever came down here with a warrant to 
burn us out, like Sodom and Gomorrah, — and I must say I think we 
have come pretty nigh richly deserving it at times, — I believe I could 
get the town off on its artichokes and shrimps. That is, if old Betsy 
were on hand to cook them. By Jove ! I don’t think he would go 
back at all. I think the chances are the kingdom would count one 
angel less. But the oil, George, — the oil is not worthy of them ; it is 
an insult to them. I had to send that last case back to Giuseppe ; it 
wasn’t fit to make liniment for mules.” 

Humph ! humph ! humph ! 

He began to snuffle vigorously, wrinkling his nose and showing his 
nostrils. 

Ovide ! Ovide ! Dam that boy ! Where is he ? Never on hand 
when I want him ! George, just go out and hunt him up for me, will 

you? Ovide! Ah! here he is! Well, sir! What the but no 

matter ! Come here. Do you smell that ? Hold your head out the 
window ! Now do you smell it? What! you tell me you can’t smell 
that ? What have you got a nose on your face for ? There ! now you 
smell it, do you ? Those, those, those dam Cape jasmines ! Great, vulgar, 
loud-smelling, brutal things ! Go out in the street, walk around the 
square till you find them ; smell your way along till you get to them ; 
you can’t mistake the place. Fat, pulpy, putrefying sweetness ! 
Wherever they are, you go in and present my compliments, and ask the 
favor of gathering a few ; pick the last one of them, buds and all. And 

look you, sir ! if you leave one to taint the neighborhood. I’ll — I’ll 

Well, go ’long and get them, and give them to Betsy to put in the stove. 
Go along ! — Pooh !” (talking to himself,) “ I wouldn’t live in the neigh- 
borhood with the things. Why can’t people have roses if they want 
flowers ? Roses are the only things for a man to look at or smell. I’d 
as soon drink milk as smell a sweet pea ! — Well, what have you been 
doing in the country all this time?” accosting Feltus abruptly. What 
did they give you to eat ?” 

All this time ! It has been exactly a week and a day since I left.” 

You don’t call a week anything ? Humph ! I wish to heavens 
I had a few to distribute round about town ! I wouldn’t mind being 
guaranteed one myself.” 

You do not think ?” began Feltus, hastily, alarmed, and show- 

ing it. 

No, I do not think ; I know.” 

But the symptoms ! You told me, — I thought, — you didn’t write. 
I wouldn’t have gone away,” — feeling his way, with hesitation. 

That is one of the worst of them,” said the doctor, with a jerk of 
his head towards the door. He had been the first to catch the rustling 
of skirts in the hall. There was a pause, a listening pause, at the door. 


EARTHLINGS. 


629 


Feltus forgot everything in the expectation of the moment. 

Madame Jehan entered the room without knocking. “ I beg your 
pardon, I did not know any one was here. Ovide was not there to 
open the door. I do not know where he is.^’ She had come in straight 
from the street, with bonnet and cape on ; she walked slowly, to recover 
her vision, in the dim chamber. 

^ This, then, was the celebrated wife of Dr. Jehan, that to him since 
childhood enigmatical personage ! The window lighted her distinctly 
to Feltus. 

The famous beauty, and the no less famous woman ! She received 
his presentations coldly, walking past him to her husband’s side. The 
pass^ belle, turned divoUe, Feltus could see the texture of her cele- 
brated beauty, attenuated, subtilized, stretched as it were over her sharp, 
regular features. The thinness of her tall figure showed to what ad- 
vantage it might once have been rounded ; there was no mistaking the 
entrancing grace of its movements : the flesh there had defied, and suc- 
cessfully, the church. She bent over and kissed the forehead of the 
doctor, Feltus looking on with breathless interest. It was a caress out of 
which all sensation but a mechanical one had been austerely abstracted, 
— an overture of conjugality to which the doctor plainly submitted. 

“ I was uneasy. I hastened away before benediction. You know 
it is the feast of ” 

She measured her voice grudgingly to the words ; for her voice was 
treasonable : like her grace, it was too old to be converted from seduc- 
tion ; like her caress, it appeared the limpid result of careful cleansing. 

The doctor had closed his eyes, his face settling into creases which 
brought out not only his age, but his infirmities. Feltus took the oc- 
casion to look at him, narrowing his eyes for concentration. 

Did her presence really mean this ? 

Was death indeed imminent? Was it indeed so? The great capa- 
cious head so full of science and sense, the face furrowed and seasoned 
by the experience of a lifetime, the sturdy, massive frame still full of 
vigor for the use of humanity, the firm, unflinching hands that had 
grasped life like the hands of a god, — were all to be given over to the 
grave ? Could he really be dismissed ? Could the world, the world of 
New Orleans, really get along without him ? After sixty years of his 
services, faith in him had become a religion. Dr. Jehan was the supreme 
co?jrt of appeal still, for patient and practitioner ; and people had laid 
on those broad shoulders burdens and responsibilities which would have 
staggered a Turkish porter. Feltus’s own mother, so they had told him 
over and over again, had been coaxed into resignation to dying by the 
promise of the doctor to look after her baby. 

The lady walked round about the room, talking all the time about 
saints, and miracles, and feast-days, and her own comfort in religion, 
glancing continuously at her husband. 

His face looked as if he were without doubt as near the other 
world as he expected. What would he do, in a world to enter which 
the body was rotted ofP the spirit, where sensual enjoyment was the 
uncleanliness of brutes ? — where,” Feltus could not help smiling at the 
idea, truffles were ignored, where it would perhaps be even more difficult 


630 


EARTHLINGS, 


than here to procure genuine table claret, and Chateau- Yquem with 
untampered seal ? — where he would have to resign his Sunday breakfast 
and his weekday jokes, leave Betsy and Ovide, his caged terrapin and 
pecan-fattened turkeys, perhaps live in a state of celestial connubiality 
with the converted Madame ! Why did she watch his face ? What did 
she see in it? And — that great arching chest, rough, red, and hairy, 
the neck corded and sinewed to hold forever, — her saint-like head had 
once reposed there, her arms twined in convulsions of love around the 
throat, her devotional eyes filled with fire. How the doctor might have 
loved ! And she Feltus shook himself away from these fever- 

ish thoughts. If the doctor died ! Why, the first year people would 
go off like an epidemic ! He himself would be afraid to cut his finger.’^ 

Why cannot you take a chair, C^lestine? or stand still while you 

talk 

The old man spoke impatiently and wearily, opening his eyes, after 
a struggle of self-repression. 

She was near the door, and, as if that had been her original inten- 
tion, she left the room. 

He waited a few moments. ^^Did Ovide tell you? — came from 
Paris, all the way from Paris, to save my soul The irony was 
ghastly. Feltus sought a diversion. 

In the country 

Wait, my dear fellow, a moment. I want you to go over there 
and look on that bureau. Nothing there? Well, on the mantel-piece. 
Not there ? Look well. On the 'etaghre. Follow her up. The little 
table. Nothing? And nothing on the floor? Egad! it must be in 
the bed, then ! Pull back the bar, turn down the sheets, lift up the 
pillows : don’t be afraid of rumpling things. Ah, ha I you’ve got it ! 
I thought so ! I knew it ! Fetch it here I Ha I ha ! ha 1 What 
is it this time ? What is it ? Let us see !” The old tone with which 
he used to coax Feltus to put out his tongue. Where the devil 
are my glassas? What can that confounded rascal have done with 
them ? You will have to hunt them for me too. Ah ! thank you, my 
boy.” He put them on and turned to the light. Let us see what it 
is this time I Humph ! hum ! A baby in a spangled gown trampling 
on a green snake ; a baby,” repeating it slowly, in a spangled gown 
trampling on a green snake. Yes, that is what it is. Appropriate and 
suggestive ; really looks medical ; but hanged if I can make the con- 
nection between it and the text. Now, George, just listen to this an 
instant : this, you must know, is the moral : ‘ Le ChrUien se reconnaU 
'par la eramte/ ” reading with his strong Swiss accent. “ Determined 
to save my soul, you see ! Object-lessons in piety. The usual attempt 
to demoralize I The old process ! First attack the nerves, throw the 
sinner into a panic, make him believe he’s drowning, and he’ll catch at 
any sort of a straw. Yes, George,” with his old humorous intonation, 
my wife expects to save my soul by — picture-cards and trinkets ! She 
never comes into my room without dropping them around somewhere, 
to catch me on the sly. Came from Paris to do it I I’ve made quite 
a handsome collection of them in a week.” He kept it in his hand, 
turning it over and over, reading the motto with a quizzical smile. 


EARTHLINGS. 


631 


“ Well, we must put it away, — put it with the rest. George, you see 
old Voltaire up there on top of the book-case? Well, just get a chair 
and put it alongside, please: that’s it; Ovide always does it. Now 
take this object of piety, stand on that chair, and reverentially and care- 
fully, George, deposit it in front of that bust. There they all are, — 
beads, bags, blessings and all ! Homage from ray wife ! Egad ! 
how the old fellow grins ! — more and more every day ; he appreciates 
them.” 

Ovide came in with his arms full. The doctor called at sight 
of him, Don’t bring those dam things in here ! Didn’t I tell you 
to take them to the kitchen and have them burned, the very last 
one of them? What do you mean by bringing them right here 

under my nose? Nasty, musky What are you saying? Oh, 

you wanted me to see how generous they were; as soon as they 
heard I wanted them they all went out and gathered them. — Hear 
that, George ! The old tailor at the corner, Lavila, — the quadroon, 
a very clever old fellow. Very decent people. — Ovide, you pick 
a basket of figs before sunrise to-morrow and take them to him with 
my compliments. And here, Ovide ! — wait a moment, can’t you ? 
what’s your hurry? — send word to Sebastian to-morrow that I want 
some rose-bushes, — any kind, no matter, they are all good ; some fine 
bearing ones. I’ll send them over to the old fellow. If he once takes 
to a rose he’ll never stand a Cape jasmine again. Well, sir, what are 
you waiting for ? Go burn them up, I told you.” 

^^So you saw that little girl up there?” 

What !” said Feltus, starting out of his reflections. 

Agla6, — Agla6 Middleton.” 

Oh, yes.” 

^^Well, what about her? How is she looking? Is she much 
changed ?” 

She has developed wonderfully.” 

There was room for it. But of all silly letters ” 

In fact, she is like a different person. That money has been the 
making of her.” 

Of course ; of course. Money will make over any woman, if she 
gets it early enough.” * 

She is immensely patriotic.” 

Well, there was a good deal of the spread-eagle in her father.” 

And she is very anxious to see you.” 

You told her positively not to come, didn’t you ? Perfect non- 
sense for her to come rushing to the city in the middle of summer. I 
thought she had more sense.” 

I told her. I don’t know whether she will mind it much.” 

No, I suppose not. A pretty obstinate sort of a little woman, eh ?” 

Seems so.” 

And high-tempered ? She used to be quite remarkable for that.” 

I did not notice it while I was there.” 

I suppose she talks well : one would naturally expect that from 
poor Middleton’s daughter.” 

Not mere talking ; no, she doesn’t have the ail to make conver- 

VoL. XLll.— 41 


632 


EARTELINOS. 


sation ; but she is quick to appreciate, and she seems to feel as well as 
understand, and knows how to express that. I thought it better not 
to tell her that I had seen her letter.^^ 

‘^All right. Just as you please about that. Did you have any 
business- talk with her?^^ 

“ Not much. I explained all about your illness, and — and the hot 
weather,^’ lamely. I have promised to return in a week, prepared 
with papers, instructions from you, and some advice. I think she is 
determined to make some sort of donation with her money.^^ 

Oh, nonsense 

There’s some superstition about it, — as you saw in the letter.” 

Well, can’t you persuade her out of it?” 

The young man shrugged his shoulders. 

Well, I’ll talk to her about it. A fool idea! A perfectly fool 
idea !” 

You might talk her out of it, if she could get to you.” 

Some church, I suppose ; save her soul too.” 

No, I fancy she inclines to asylums, homes, — something of that 
kind.” 

She’d a deuced sight better found her own home and start her own 
asylum with the money.” 

As you said, she is obstinate.” 

“ Put her off, then, — put her off until cool weather, when she can 
talk to me.” 

. Cool weather is four months off!” 

And of course she cannot wait, being a woman.” 

She looks upon it as a kind of vow.” 

Vow be ” 

What do you think of the Charity Hospital ?” 

The Charity Hospital had been a life-long hobby with him. 

I’ll look after the Charity Hospital. She iieed not bother about 
that. Look here, Feltus, how old are you?” 

Thirty-two. Why ?” 

'^That’s so! In ’43. I remember. She’s about twenty-four or 

five, I should say ; and that’s a nice little fortune ” 

the way ” Feltus interrupted uneasily. 

“ She has something like ” 

Old Madame B4raud was there,” — snatching a subject hap-hazard. 

Full of stories and anecdotes about everybody. She had a great deal 
to ask about you ; knew you in the old times. She used to be intimate 
with the Omers ; told me lots about them. I never knew before exactly 
how he lost liis money. I thought it had gone into the Confederacy.” 

You didn’t know the Omers, then,” curtly. 

But he fought.” 

“ Humph !” 

Groping to get hold of the doctor with some theme, ^^She said 
you had theories about them.” 

Theories ! If she calls it^heories.” 

You were intimate with them, were you not ? You knew Mayeur, 

too.” 


EARTHLINGS. 


633 


The doctor had forgotten his lame arm again ; he wanted to bring 
the hand down clinched for emphasis, as if he were at the dinner-table, 
with a half-dozen decanters before him to choose from, a smoking crowd 
around him, launched in a long story with a theory at the end, and 
time at a discount. 

Feltus, relieved by his stratagem, looked down into the garden 
again. 

When I first came to New Orleans, I came near having a duel 
on my hands, by repeating what I had heard, that the Omers were de- 
scendants of Hom^re, a famous coureur des bois. No, sir, nothing but 
the bluest of blue blood would serve them ; and, for my part, now, I 
think their lives proved their pedigree pretty thoroughly ; and if I had 
to fight to-day I would fight the other way. That was their ambition 
in life, to be aristocratic, and rich. When they were not polishing and 
refining the original stock, they were cultivating and fertilizing their 
money. They always married for blood and money together, and if 
they could get it in a cousin so much the better, — a process of concen- 
tration more favorable to the money than to the blood : the outcome in 
children was pretty poor, — smaller and weaklier, prettier and punier, 
and less of them, generation after generation. Old Hom^re started the 
family with nineteen ; Val^rien ended it with one, — your friend. The 
certificate of birth had to be accepted as a certificate of ability by the 
public, and by themselves too, for I donft suppose any of them ever 
thought to stop and take stock of their intellect. They got it down to 
buying their way through everything, and enjoyed purchased merit as 
much as if they had earned it. The children bought prizes at school, 
the boys bought distinction at colleges, the girls bought society, beaux, 
husbands. Pshaw ! at one time they were the royal family of New 
Orleans, and demeaned themselves with regal idiocy. They were simply 
damned by good lucl^' Why, even Death, who was a pretty constant 
admirer of ours then^Brays hanging around the corner with a pistol 
or a knife, or sailing up the river with a cargo of yellow fever or 
cholera, — I used to think that even^Ileath had been b|ij^ into con- 
sideration for them, coming in discreetly in white l^T^d swallow- 
tails, at the most convenient moment, as obsequioqg a^indfl sick-room 

as ” (naming a well-known lawyer with a laugh|||£arQ^d a%ineral, 

bowing a corpse out of a family as insinuating as ^TO^a succession. 
They always had an agent to manage their misiness affairs, of course. 
It was farcical to go into Val^rien’s office. At a great, big, pompous 
desk sat a littl^Creole, Valerien; he was the one the money manipu- 
lated. At a Imfe }^of a desk in the corner sat the agent ; he was the 
one who manipulate^he money. Between you and me, the Omers 
had got to that pass'%tellectually when they had to buy all the common 
sense they needed. Tfffc agent, Mayeur, an Alsatian, had sense to sell 
and over. He just turffid that fortune round, and doubled it. He 
sent it out in all directions, and it never came back without considerable 
booty in the way of percentage. It ^ped into every transaction in 
the State, walked around in slaves, noated in boats, shaved paper. 
They say it went into drinking- and gambling-saloons, and even worse. 
Mayeur was not one to hold back. There is no royal road to fortune, 


634 


EARTHLINGS. 


only the same old dirt-rut, impossible to travel over with perfectly clean 
feet. The money bred, flourished, extended, and the smaller the 
Omers became the more they represented intrinsic gold : the auriferous 
parasite may have beautified the trellis, but it decayed it at the same 
time. The end, the fine end, was your Omer, the daintiest manikin 
that ever stepped out of a Parisian bandbox. He married some little 
creature, an only daughter, rich the same way he was.’^ 

And this Mayeur 

Mayeur ? He was the son of the old Mayeur. I understand that 
when the war broke out he was sent over to France with money to 
invest,^^ answered the doctor, rather curtly, for he had not got to the 
end of his story. 

But courage is the last thing for French blood to give up : when it 
degenerates, it degenerates from fighting lions to fighting cocks. Paul 
enlisted promptly, and stepped out gallantly enough in his pretty bright 
uniform, with a darky in the rear somewhere with a trunk of fine linen. 
He was coming back in sixty days, of course ; they all were, if they 
didn’t sail over from New York and conquer the rest of the world 
after whipping the Yankees. He got back in — just — about — ” slow- 
ing his voice for effect — ^^five — years; not a conquering soldier, not 
even a defeated soldier, but a subdued jail-bird, taken in the very first 
engagement, some insignificant, miserable little skirmish without even 
a name, and marched off to some nice, cool, retired prison far enough 
away, I warrant you, from the Omer name and Omer money. Then 
Nature settled her score with him. He fainted when they took the 
shoes off his poor little feet. When they undressed him, they found 
an abscess somewhere in his poor little body, and — but this you 
wouldn’t understand ; what you would understand is that every dis- 
ease his fool parents had run him away from in childhood found him 
there and caught him. There was no more running ; he had to take 
them this time, — from measles down. Just would have done, 

sir, if I had not run you into them,” looking at the young man’s stal- 
wart propoJ(^^ with self-satis||iction. ^^When I tracked you that 

time to th»lo^^marshy, miserable camp ” 

This wt on^f the reminiscences Feltus would not assist in even 
by list^in ^^the e vening when, smoking an^drinking in his tent like a 
man, he had o^PTOHrprised, cuffed like a sch^l-boy, humiliated, dragged 
out of his uniform and hre company, and put back to school. The next 
time he took good care to escape beyond the reach of those vigorous 
hands, and soldiered with none the less zest at the thought of his 
guardian’s baf&ed temper. 

But Omer?” he interposed. 

They tell me he nearly died of mumps alone. Ills of muscles 
from forced labor, ills of stomach from force^food, ills of mind from 
bad air and anxiety, with rheumatism always ready to volunteer in a 
spare interval, — he spent most of his time in the hospital. It is a 
miracle and a shame that he didn’t die and go to heaven, where no 
doubt they have bought a nice ftmfortable little niche from the priests. 
He wouldn’t make nor accept an effort towards release ; he got so he 
wouldn’t even speak English, — pretended not to understand it. He 


EARTHLINGS. 


635 


was shut up most of the time with a lot of raw Mississippians and 
Texans, and he hated them worse than the Yankees. The sixty days 
were over, and the Te Deums and Hallelujahs had been put on ice to 
keep. This city fell. If the wife could only have remained here ; but 
that beast 

Feltus and Ovide from the door both made deprecating movements 
forward. 

No, don’t be afraid ; I am not going to get in a rage and curse. 
I won’t even mention his name,” drawing a long breath. 

“By peijuring herself she could have stayed here, watched her 
property and taken care of her children ; but she pluckily signed her 
name to a certificate of enmity, and was summarily put out of the city 
limits, — a young, pretty woman with two children. I wrote a paper 
on the subject at the time, George, — a purely medical paper concerning 
only women and children in war-times ; you will find it one of these 
days among my things. I thought of publishing it over in Europe. 
Bashi-Bazouks, — bah !” 

“How was it you w^ere not put out of the city?” said George, 
smiling at the thought of the doctor’s record at the time; but his 
reticence about himself was, as usual, invulnerable. 

“ It is because they were afraid to meet the yellow fever here with- 
out you.” 

“ What was left of her returned to meet what was left of him 
when the war was over, — one child missing. I believe he got enough 
together to fail on afterwards. He forced his house and furniture 
on his creditors; what was left went to pay for his wife’s funeral.” 
The old gentleman forgot that his audience was not a medical one, 
and stated in business tones the particular internal carnage of the poor 
woman. 

“ Prevost told me not long ago that at the time he took Omer into 
his printing-office out of pure charity, and respect for the old name. 
He can’t make anything out of him : the man has got good will enough, 
but he hasn’t any business sense. Of course not ; it h^ all been elimi- 
nated out of the race. And I saw it all coming, years^o, and I used 
to tell them, sitting around, smoking, drinking—- — He thrummed 
on the arm of his chair, sinking his voice, muttering to himself. 
“Well, what was to happen has happened. I ha^ h^good times in 
this place ; it is sixty years since I landed here. Finer men never sat 
around better tables. A man then was proud to belong to a profession, 
and ashamed to be rich in it : our merchants were gentlemen, our poli- 
ticians By the way, George, they tell me the Governor is going 

to appoint that dam rascal . . .” 

But the twilight was falling, the long evening was coming to an 
end. Ovide brought in the shaded lamp, and Feltus was willing to 
understand the significant nods and winks behind the back of his 
master, as advice to depart. 


636 


EARTHLINGS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

It was only around the corner from Dr. Jehan’s to Madame Domi- 
nique’s. In the singing of one verse of her song Feltus could make the 
distance. 

“ And who will be my princess ? 

Who’ll be my beggar-girl ? 

Oh, the harps ” 

Misette paused and listened. 

“ Oh, the shining streets of pearl I” 

He was coming, but walking easily to surprise her ; he always did 
that, but never succeeded in the act. 

She sang on to deceive him until the last moment : 

“ Who’ll go to be my poor? 

Who’ll go to be my sick ? 

Oh, the sweetest angels sure ” 

Oh, Mr. Feltus ! You need not take the trouble ; I hear you. 
I have been expecting you all the evening. But how long you have 
kept me waiting !” 

It was evident that she expected him ; she had on her white dress 
with pink flowers printed over it, trimmed with her prettiest tatting, 
and starched as stiffly as Madame Brun could make it. It stood out 
all around, and he could see that she had not sat down since she had 
put it on. Her hair broke away from her plaits in a fuzz all over her 
head, curling over her forehead and flat to the temples. Her eyebrows 
were dark, to match the darkest spot in her eyes, and her eyes were 
filled with a bright gold-dust in their clear brown depths ; they sparkled 
with her thoughts, and her thoughts, they sparkled, in their lightness, 
like thistle-loWn in the sun,” was Feltus’s thought, but he never 
would acknowledge the poetical form of it. 

You stiyed away so long! I really thought you were never 
coming back all.” She laughed at her own falsehood, showing all 
her little, fine, infantile teeth at once. She Avould not sit down, but 
stood at the window to look out, and save rumpling her dress, Feltus 
knew. A pretty child of twelve, to all appearance. She was not a 
child, however. She was sixteen. She commenced immediately to 
talk, to entertain him in her unthinking, spontaneous way, the way of 
the mocking-bird down-stairs. 

Such a time with my grammar and past participles last night ! 
Papa was so vexed! You should have been here! — Ah ! my branch 
from the forest ?” 

She took it from his hand and looked at it. A serious look came 
over her face. To have in her hands a piece of a great forest, a 
forest like she read about ! — a forest out there in the great, great world I 
— a world as inaccessible from her garret as the stars !” 


EARTHLINGS. 


637 


There were forests all around the city, to be seen for the riding to 
them in the cars ; but it had never occurred to her father to give her 
anything that Madame Dominique did not suggest, or that his own 
experience did not explain the necessity of. 

And this grew in the woods She pronounced it hoods,’^ but 
he did not correct her this time. And nobody has ever touched it 
before, except you and me She passed her fingers over the leaves and 
laid her face down on them. It seems to me I can smell in it the 
coolness, the freshness, the shade 

She had a long vista of thoughts in her eyes, — an entire forest. 

“ Now you will write a song about it and sing it.’^ 

“ WHte it ? — write a song ? The singing a song is the writing it, 
the making it.” Mr. Feltus never would comprehend that. 

I cannot imagine how a forest looks ! Trees growing up by them- 
selves without being planted, birds singing in their boughs, squirrels 
running over tliem. Do they understand one another, I wonder, — 
the trees ? or do they only fed one another ? What could the tree have 
thought when you broke off a piece of it to bring it to me, — all the way 

to me ? You need not look for papa. Papa has gone out, — not to 

his office ; no. Some one came to see him yesterday, — a curious-looking 
man, a foreigner : they have gone away together.” 

She followed his example and took a chair, smoothing her dress 
under her as she sat down. By sitting close to the window they got 
the benefit of the lamps in the street. 

IVe been down-stairs, talking to old Dugas.” She chattered in- 
cessantly, looking up at the end of each sentence for an answering nod, — 
a habit she had contracted from a womanly striving to enliven her 
taciturn morose father. He has been telling me about the wars he 
has been in, and how his leg was shot off. Fancy having your leg 
dead and buried before you ! And why that leg more than the other 

leg ? It is so strange. I was thinking Mr. Feltus, do you think 

Dugas ever killed a man ? How horrible it must be to live after killing 
a man ! Wouldn’t you rather be killed? Because, that is interfering 
with God, and every night God must reproach him with it ; for God 
is the only one who knows when to kill people, and when have them 
born. I looked at his hands,” gesticulating with her own, the fingers 
all so stiff and long, the nails curled over like Roland’s claws. — Oh ! 
did you hear any mocking-birds up there in the forest, Mr. Feltus? I 
wish I could tell Roland about it. How glad he would be to go in the 
country and see all of his own bird-people ! If I were with people 
who only listened to me and did not understand me, I would die. 
Wouldn’t you, Mr. Feltus ?” 

He was thinking of the biography of her family, still warm in his 
memory from the doctor’s lips. She was so dainty, so innocent, so 
pretty, so volatile, and so earnest. The refining process had left some- 
thing to the women as well as courage to the men. 

Her face, her head, just so against the sky, beginning to show the 
stars, here in this poverty-reduced room, — it had the antique perfection 
and grace of profile of an old cameo in a defaced and scratched setting. 

“You know those furniture-people opposite have again complained 


638 


EARTHLINGS. 


about Roland. They say they cannot sleep of nights at all, particularly 
moonlight nights. I should think they would lie awake and listen : I 
do ; and songs come to me, and words, and I feel so happy in this great 
beautiful world ! Hear my little clock !” She stopped and counted 
the strokes,— “ Twelve.^’ She jumped up and brought it to the window. 
It was a little timepiece Feltus had given her. “ The first time it 
stopped I pushed it forward. Then it got to be a regular trick with 
it. It is so lazy ! Would you believe it? — as soon as I go to sleep at 
night it stops running. Now, you see, it’s in punishment : I am not 
going to push it forward any more ; it has got to catch up by itself. 
I wind it regularly ; that is all.” 

But how do you tell the time ?” 

By the cathedral. Oh, I am determined to discipline it. Just 
as God disciplines me, I am going to discipline that clock. Suppose I 
should lie down and sleep instead of working, and wake up and cele- 
brate six o’clock when it is already mid-day ! I have had to shake it 
five or six times to-day.” 

“ But suppose it is sick, ailing, and cannot go ?” 

‘^Oh, Mr. Feltus! Do you think so? Do you think clocks can 
suffer ?” She had the greatest horror of pain and suffering. ‘^Bah! 
you are mocking me ! You think I am a fool by the way I talk ; but, 
after all, I know better : it is only a fagon de parlerj^ She was silent 
for some moments ; and then, as if the pause must bore him, she re- 
sumed brightly : “ What do you think has come back? Guess ! Why, 
the old Friga ; lying there at the levee, just as natural ! — so clean, so re- 
spectable. Papa did not recognize her at first, but the moment I saw 
her I knew her. Sunday evening, when we were walking, it was. 
Coming all the way from Copenhagen to New Orleans, across the sea. 
I wonder if she was glad to come here !” 

It was the fantastic idea that ran through all her musings, voy- 
aging. She had been so stationary all her life. 

All across the ocean I And I am here already. It is very 
curious, the world ! So many places, and so full of people. I don’t 
see how God^^n recollect them all, and all the birds and the animals 
besides. The poor Friga ! She looked as if she had been through the 
wars, too, like Dugas. I wonder if she has ever been shot at in battle, 
that poor wonian under the prow. Ah ! I do not see how people can 
take innocent vessels and make vessels of war of them ! It is not the 
vessels’ fault ; they cannot prevent it. It is just the same as if you 
took me and forced me to go around carrying a gun for you to shoot 
other people with. Sometimes, Dugas says, the vessels are shot, until 
they go down to the bottom of the sea, with all on board. Oh, I could 
not endure the sight of it !” covering her face with her hands. And 
those cannon-balls go through everything, splintering, crashing, tearing.” 

A shiver passed over her. “ That is curious : I always shiver when 
I think of wars and snakes. Did you ever see a snake ? I mean, in 
the forest? You remember the big snake in the show-window on 
Royal Street. I used to dream of that snake. I do not see how God 
could ever get any one to be a snake for Him in the world ; do you ? 
I do not think I could be a snake, not even if He begged me. Pshaw ! 


EARTHLINGS. 


639 


but of course I would ! I know perfectly well when they would be 
offering to be this and that and all sorts of horrible things for Him, 
I would offer to be a snake: I could not keep from it. Would not you, 
Mr. Feltus, for God? Because, after all, there would be greater merit 
in being a snake than something pleasanter. And the world has to 
have snakes; hasn’t it? He would not have them, otherwise. No, 
no, Mr. Feltus,” as she saw him walk to the table, “ no grammar this 
evening, — positively not. I had enough of French grammar last night. 
I do not see the use of grammar, unless God Himself could tell us 
the rules. Of course if He made them we would have to follow them. 
If it was in the commandment, ‘ Thou shalt make the past participle, 
conjugated with have, agree with the noun, when the noun precedes it,’ 
then very sure I would remember to do it, as I remember not to steal, 
for example.” 

But your father, he says so, and God tells you to obey your father.” 

No, it is not papa, it is Poitevin.” 

Well, perhaps He told Poitevin.” 

What ! That nonsense ? Oh, Mr. Feltus !” 

Misette ” 

Have you seen Madame Brim’s baby, Mr. Feltus ?” interrupting 

him. 

‘‘Not yet.” 

“ Oh, I wish you could see it !” with a delighted smile. “ Did you 
not know she had one ? Well, you are like me ! When Madame 
Dominique told me, I would not believe her at first. But it is such a 
pity, she is ill, — quite ill. Madame Brun is, I mean. The baby has 
black eyes, and black hair, and no teeth. The teeth, it appears, come 
afterwards.” 

He moved impatiently. Those women down-stairs, — what did 
they not make the girl believe ? Her innocence was a by-word with 
them ; they would make her ridiculous ! 

“ It is the first baby I have ever seen close ; they let me hold her 
in my arms one moment. She is going to be named — guess what ! 
I give it to you in five, ten, twenty-five guesses ! You mil not guess ? 
Then I shall tell you. They are going to name her MisSe ! That is, 
Marie Elisabeth. Papa says it would not be nice to have two Misettes 
in the house at once ; but Madame Dominique says we will call her 
Lisette.” 

The stars made her think of something else : 

“ Those poor dead people ! Three funerals passed here to-day, Mr. 
Feltus, two with music. I cried and cried. I do not know why I am 
always so sorry for them, and I am so afraid they will get frightened in 
the tomb, and it is so unreasonable to get frightened in the tomb. I 
sometimes wish I could go with them and keep them company until 
the angels come for them. 

“ Talk to them ?” He tried always to tease her about her talking. 
“ Why not ? To think they are going away, for ever and ever and 
ever ! How well people ought to behave in the world, eh ? when they 
think of that ! It must comfort the family to have music. That is 
what they have it for, is it not ? It makes it easier to cry. I wonder 


640 


EARTHLINGS. 


when my funeral goes that way through the streets if any young girl 
will stand at a window and watch it and cry for me. It would make 
me feel so happy in the hearse, that would, — to have some one say, 
‘ Poor young girl !’ 

But if you are an old woman 

“ Oh, Mr. Feltus ! I an old woman She laughed. That will 
never happen, sure f ^ 

She had got her little box of work, and was tatting in the dark, 
her fingers as nimble as her tongue. 

This is for Madame Brun’s baby. I have done all this ! 
Madame Dominique says I make tatting faster than any one she ever 
saw. I do not see why they call it frivolite in French. It is not 
frivoliti at all, any more than any other trimming. It is not right to 
give anything a bad name, not even tatting.^^ 

It was pleasant to the young man to sit this way and listen ; it was 
pleasanter than the country and all the good company ; there was no 
one could add a charm to evening as Misette could. 

And that pretty new song you were going to sing for me when I 
returned 

She dropped her tatting ; this was serious, the rest of her 
all chaff*. 

Oh, Mr. Feltus, I have had my despair over that song ! I can- 
not seem to say what came into my head. I sometimes think the words 
have not been invented for it. I have tried and tried. I must have 
sung it over a thousand times. Do you think that this will do ? 

“ The sun drops down the hours, 

Passing, passing, o’er the earth, 

The laughing, joyous hours. 

The sighing, weeping hours. 

The hours dark with sadness. 

The hours bright with mirth. 

The sun drops down the hours, 

All the hours. 

But God drops down the years. 

“ The sun calls out the flowers. 

Passing, passing o’er the earth.” 

She sang all through to the last lines, — 

“ The sun calls out the flowers. 

All the flowers. 

But God calls out the tears !” 

And then she stopped, discouraged. 

“ I do not know what is the matter with it. I wouldn’t like to 
leave off* trying until I was sure about it, but how am I to know ? 
Perhaps it is meant to be that way, not so good ; as some people are 
meant not to be so pretty. There are some naturally quite ugly. Mr. 
Feltus, how do people know when a thing is completed? If God 
would only tell them ! And I wanted to ask you, how can I say the 
sun does it, when God does it all ? Is it right for me to say that, 



EARTHLINGS. 


641 


just because it comes in a song ? And then I thought I would not 
have that song : I would unmake it ; it should not be. But the tune 
kept coming back looking for the words ; oh, it sounded so sad ! Had 
I a right to take the words away ? for the air came to me first, bringing 
the words. It is as if an ugly body should say to a beautiful soul, ^ No, 
I am too ugly : we cannot go together and the poor soul goes back to 
heaven and says the body would not have it. It is better to have an 
ugly body than no body at all ! And so I keep on with those words. 
— Ah ! why have you not been smoking ? That is not right, to sit 
and listen to me without smoking ! I should have invited you, I 
suppose ; but I was so glad to see you, I forgot everything else. Hst ! 
there is papa ! Now I am not going to say another word. You can 
smoke with him, and talk to him.” 

To Feltus, Omer appeared smaller, thinner, and more sallow than 
ever, after the doctor’s recent pungent sermon. That he could have 
fathered Misette, and Misette’s disposition, was more a miracle than 
ever ; that Misette could be fastened on any of the generations of the 
family was a mystery of heredity. It was like a drum producing a 
flute. 

They smoked their usual cigarettes, and may be said to have smoked 
their usual conversation ; newspaper topics, chopped fine by individual 
opinion, and politics, — which in their city were factional, an internecine 
quarrel urged with a blue and green intensity, — the younger man main- 
taining a propitiatory deference to the elder, the deference of the stronger 
to the weaker, of the gainer to the loser in life ; the courtesy of a man 
working for ambition to a man working for bread and butter; the 
homage of a man with a future to a man with only a past. 

It had taken years of fostering to grow this friendship, the seeds of 
which Madame Dominique had plant^, in the fulness of her acquired 
knowledge. She caused the accident that brought them together, and, 
in a little conversation with Feltus, convinced him that apparent acci- 
dents are opportunities conferred on the generous. Great patience and 
great tact were needed at first, and great reserve always, on the part of 
Feltus. • The first visit decided his merit as a candidate.*. There was 
an embarrassment over the need of an extra chair, the Omers never 
contemplating a larger social intercourse than their own little duet. 
Feltus sped down-stairs for one, passed by his own rooms with loanable 
articles in profusion, went to the basement, and borrowed from Madame 
Dominique some second-hand relic of the kitchen. This was kept in 
the fourth story for him. Succeeding years did the work of making 
the two men necessary to each other, and so each one gained a friend. 
Feltus drifted into their domestic arrangements, was a member of their 
family councils, had his voice in the question where the cheapest shoes 
could be bought for Misette and where the best coffee was kept parched 
and ground, had been consulted about the comparative merits of Noel 
and Chapsal and Poitevin and been intrusted with the English substi- 
tute for their educational mysticisms. 


642 


EARTHLINGS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The days of a week pass easily enough in a country house, protected 
in some measure by distance or other divine impediment from indiscrim- 
inate sociability, and under a gentle routine of business one week fades 
into another as imperceptibly as the phases of the moon, a new month 
surprising one like a new crescent. If all lawyers were as generous 
of time as Feltus, all clients as generous of gratitude as Agla6, the judges 
would enjoy but a short carnival of business. 

“Shall we to work this morning?’’ Agla4 and Feltus began to 
avoid the phrase. It had an innuendo in it. They could not look 
at each other when they said it. They would not look at Mrs. Mid- 
dleton, for fear of detecting a covert smile. 

He explained so lucidly, or she understood so quickly, that the 
survey of her affairs was soon made. Her instalment as proprietor 
of them if effected with consistent promptitude would soon have pro- 
cured him his official dismissal. But Agla§ had still her plan, or her 
vow, of benefaction, in her brain, and on the actual knowledge of the 
amount of her dollars and cents she commenced the foundation of a 
scheme, the carrying out of which was to be a mere question of archi- 
tecture between her and Feltus. 

He had been privately suborned by Mrs. Middleton into a promise 
to temper, by his counsels, charity with discretion. To please Dr. Jehan 
he loyally collected obstacles to throw in her way, using all of his legal 
tact and ingenuity to frustrate charity as if it were justice, and pleading 
as warmly for a reduction of any sum she mentioned as if he were a mil- 
lionaire and she a tax-assessor, and finally he committed her to a collec- 
tion of data before the adoption of even a feminine, temporary decision. 

The rumor of her intentions awoke all manner of sleeping or supine 
necessities. The field of charity teemed with candidates for her gener- 
osity and her time. Every ill and misfortune in life seemed to have 
been incorporated with an institution where it could be treated according 
to any sect of religion or medicine ; and every institution was a needy 
one and an alert one. There were private cases, with private agents, 
too, whose eloquence would melt the most obdurate fortunes as well 
as hearts. There seemed to l>e a vast side of humanity which only 
needed money to soon become prominent members of the other side, 
which only needed hearts. 

“God had balanced the poor and the rich,” Agla6 said, or, using a 
political expression which in her country she could hardly avoid, “ God 
had elected certain people to be rich : could they without violating His 
confidence and trust turn the position into one of meje personal profit ? 
She had returned from an old country historically illustrious through 
private benefactions ; the names of the rich there were the names of the 
patrons of art, of letters, the renovators of cities, the founders of hospi- 
tals, churches, schools, pensions ; the names of the rich here were ” 

What she said, if repeated, might be censured as unpatriotic. “ She 
had done nothing to deserve this money, nothing to earn it. The 
good it had accomplished in her life was not to be overestimated 


EARTHLINGS. 


643 


or slighted. But the good was accomplished. There were others 
now waiting, as she had been, — waiting for travel, enlightenment, 
pleasure, higher education, higher health. Was she to spend on clothes, 
on luxury, the precious elixir that could animate other lives, young 
lives? Was she to be,” scornfully, ‘^an American heiress? — to buy 
admiration, beaux, a husband? the competitor for notoriety with ballet- 
dancers ? advertised like a quack medicine ?” This was during those 
moments of the day which could never be passed anywhere so well as 
in the summer-house over the creek ; when they would leave papers 
and documents in the library, and wander around, broadening their 
prospect by side-issue discussions, sometimes more pertinent to them- 
selves than to their project ; half-days left over from a task, or waiting- 
time to be filled, a hot hour to escape. The summer season warranted 
all excuses and delays, even the infinite amount of dallying that two 
young congenial people can bring into a pleasant business copartnership, 
where neither one would go on without the other, and a perfect entente 
cordiale was necessary on even the point of a pen. 

Each morning they arose aglow for work, and if evening surprised 
them with a short count it was because due credit was not given for the 
scenes recalled from novels, stanzas from poems, and the verification of 
episodes from history. Politics became involved, religion ; travels were 
rehearsed for reasons, reminiscences summoned for exemplification ; 
in fact, the universe itself was partieeps criminis in a donation in 
Louisiana. 

His theories of political economy made no stand before her feminine 
practices, and his logic was not to be depended on to sustain him under 
her appeals. He could not combat her : she might just as well have 
received a divine commission to impoverish herself as think she had. 

Everything was pleasant and concessive. Their minds had learned 
to fit, one in another. There was no jostle, no jar, not even friction, 
in the running of them. It was as easy talking as going down an 
incline ; and it felt something like it. 

Looking at Agla§, under the flickering light of the green trees, 
Feltus made constant discoveries in her ; most charming yields of new 
regions of intelligence, new points of humor, unexpected fountains of 
emotion, unfathomable depths of womanliness. Advancing, soi-disant, 
critically, her eyes and hair pleased him, her long, slim, delicate hands. 
No, he repudiated that ! It was herself, her impulses, her emotions, 
her very exaggerations, if you will, her spontaneity, the flood of words 
that poured from her lips on a contradiction, an opposition, the sudden, 
frank acceptance of defeat, her fervent admirations, her abandonment 
of them in disgust at a symptom of baseness, her imperious requisitions 
for preux chevaliers among men, or none at all, her prejudices, her an- 
tipathies, her renunciation of them at the suggestion of horror or pity. 
She brought him her views, her impressions, she shared with him the 
influences that had helped her. Her mind was as symmetrical as her 
body, — fair, tall, lily-like, dressed in white always, if of the latest 
fashion and cut. And — she made him feel his superiority to all this ! 
she accepted his solution of her doubts, his answers to her questions. 
It flattered him subtly, the homage of this fluent, flowery woman 


644 


EARTHLINGS, 


nature, which it is given to man to draw into himself. For, as he felt 
her excellencies and beauties, he felt the absorbing power of his own 
manhood to make it all his own. She bloomed the flower of fancies, 
but the seeds lay in his heart ; she was an exhalation from his own 
hidden sources. His own mother must have possessed the same lady- 
hood. His own mother must have been like Agla6, the stirrer in a 
man of noble passions, the allayer of others, a purifier, an enlightener 
of the heart. Life-partnerships with such women promised, not grat- 
ifications, but satisfactions. And he repeated to himself the almost- 
forgotten words of Alphonse Karr about a woman whom he had met 
on the boulevards of life : 

II me semblait, ce qui jusque 1^ ne m’6tait gu§re arrive h Fugard 
d’autres femmes, que je prendrais volontiers celle-1^ pour ma part tout 
entier de femmes et d^amour; et que je renoncerais avec joie, pour 
elle, k toutes les autres et k toutes les bonnes chances et rencontres de 
la vie.” 

His share of women and love ! It was a thought not for noon and 
her presence. 

Manliness, vigor, strength.” Agla^’s furtive cross-examination 
of Feltus to test certain previous conclusions only fixed the certainty 
of manliness, vigor, strength.” The pleasure which the verdict gave 
her might arouse the suspicion that this was an acquittal which other 
similar trials had not ended with. 

Each moment in his society was fecund also in results to her, — 
results as complimentary to herself as to him. For, losing sight, as 
women will, of personal identity, in contemplating the man she liked, 
she contemplated only the qualities she liked. The instinctive hopes 
and desires of her sex, the strength for her weakness, the decision for 
her indecision, the stability for her instability, led her heart, and she 
was old enough to celebrate a victory, when she did not meet with a 
disappointment. With women, a disappointment in love is grief over 
a marred ideal ; disappointment in man is the loss of an ideal. They 
come that way into the world, with their husband already in their 
hearts ; they are sometimes in appearance unfaithful to him, marrying 
some one else, but the husband in this case is only a dummy for her, 
she in reality is wedded to the prototype in her heart, as the dummy- 
husband knows too well. Agla4 was one who would wife to her original 
ideal or to none. 

Pursuing these side-issues in the greenwood, they had forgotten the 
principal object of their intercourse : when they both approached it again, 
one morning, by curious coincidence of unanimity, they found that each 
had changed sides since their last controversy ; now both were opposite 
their first positions. He, abandoning loyalty, Mrs. Middleton, and Dr. 
Jehan, became insistent that she should despoil herself for the benefit 
of the poor. She hesitated, demurred, pleaded for time, using his aban- 
doned arguments with good effect. 

The more she hesitated, the more he urged ; the more he urged, the 
more she hesitated ; and still the time passed. 

He placed before her, in glowing colors, the figure of Charity fitly 
typified by woman, — the giver, the nourishes He spoke, — they were 


EARTHLINGS. 


645 


again in the summer-house, the woods sombre and quiet about them, — 
he spoke of the despicability of gold, precious only to give away. A 
moneyed woman, he said, was a draggled-feathered angel. A woman’s 
arms were given to cradle infants, not money-bags. He told her about 
the part of the city he lived in, — all the poverty, the dirt, the neglect, 
the hard-working women, the ignorant children, the whiskey-drinking 
men. He could show her cases where money coming now would come 
as a godsend. He related Dr. Jehan’s account of the Omers, — hoping 
to strike the responsive chord in her breast, — described the ravages 
of gold in their character, the expiation in Misette of their criminal 
sordid ness. 

Had she considered the Charity Hospital sufficiently ? — its cry- 
ing impoverishment, with its scaled revenues and exhaust^ resources, 
depending for sustenance on the degrading tax on crime and vice ? It 
was the lazar-house for not one State but a whole section, the refuge 
for all, black as well as white, — all on an equality from disease and 
suffering, all on an equality of treatment. He had been there in the 
spring,” pacing up and down the little platform, that shook under his 
excit^ tread ; it was a place to furnish nightmares for a lifetime. 
Ah ! disease is God’s curse on humanity. The pale, white women, 
the better ones crocheting, sewing, propped up in bed ; others idly 
waiting for the morrow, a limb to be amputated, or an abscess to be cut 
out, — suffering so much that they kept opening their eyes to see if the 
fatal curtain were not being strung around their bed ; thinking death 
surely must be in their present agony. For there was no death-chamber, 
no agony-room ; they groaned and gasped out their lives with only a 
calico curtain between them and the others. An agony-room, — that 
was what the hospital needed. All the physicians said so. If she 
would only go there some morning ! If she were in the city now, he 
would take her. What a procession of nations, colors, and diseases ! 
— sufferers from misery or sufferers from crime; in their clean rags 
and their dirty rags ; escorted by priests and ministers, or escorted by 
policemen, from all parts of the city, to be bathed, and dressed, and 
put into clean beds, and nursed by gentle hands into life or eased 
into death ; the black women particularly coming in crowds from 
their tramping and dissipation. There was one the day he was there, 
— she was so black in her white, white bed, her face on her white, 
white pillow, a little baby beside her. He would never forget the 
poor woman’s look of amazement at the, to her, sumptuous surround- 
ings, turning her pathetic brute-eyes from the hangings of the bed to 
the infant on the pillow. The little children’s ward would make her 
weep.” 

Then there was the students’ life there. He begged her to consider 
the educative nobility of that part of the design alone. He told her 
how it was first incorporated ; he could not remember the names of the 
subscribers ; they were cut in large marble tablets in the vestibule, — the 
oldest and best names in Louisiana. Her own, if she consented, would 
lead them all hereafter. Had she never heard about the old sugar- 
planter, who, dying, bequeathed his funeral expenses to the hospital, 
ordering for himself only the necessary pauper’s burial ? His family 


646 


EARTHLINGS. 


obeyed his wishes, but handed over to the hospital the munificent ex- 
penses of a prince’s interment.” 

In short, Feltus repeated to Agla6 what had been a favorite subject 
of harangue with Dr. Jehan ; and it was an open secret that Dr. Jehan 
was going to leave his fortune to the hospital. 

Her eyes kindled as he spoke, her cheeks glowed, but what she 
would have given then and there for this matchless (to her) eloquence 
was not a donation to the hospital. He had defeated himself in simply 
increasing her admiration for him. 

No, I must not give my word, must not decide, till he speaks,” 
she adjured herself. Other uses then for money, other dedication for 
a fortune !” And she berated the characteristic impetuosity that had 
made her hurry a dim vision into a vow. 

I must not speak till she decides, gives her word, makes my wooing 
irreproachable.” And he nerved himself to self-control and patience. 

Why did I heap obstacles in the path of her wishes?” 

Apart from each other, they lived in absent-minded contemplation 
of the boundless ocean of love spread out before them, in antici- 
pation their thoughts flying like sea-gulls over the expanse, dipping 
crescent wings into it, flashing a silver breast up in the sunlight, with 
unseen treasures down in the depths for bold divers, and never a 
tempest nor a calm. 

With all their embracive grasp of thought at the beginning, the 
world and the world’s people faded away in time, thinned out of their 
plans, countries, nations at a time. The sun, for them, traversed daily 
an ever-diminishing horizon ; their own surroundings contained with 
ever greater abundance all that was desirable as to things, all that was 
needful as to persons. One moment, one inevitable moment, became 
less and less distant to them, more and more distinct, throwing a hurdle 
across their future. Their destiny became more and more apparent 
to them, and they were charmed with it. 

As in a dream multitudes of emotions seem flying away from the 
heart at once, that it may be left pure and free for that sensation which 
the dreamer’s consciousness anticipates, which comes when the culmina- 
tion of stillness, quietude, and peace is reached, to thrill and waken 
the sleeper with ethereal delight, so these two lived in sure prospect of 
that terminal beatific moment. 

The extraneous officiousness of the post-office was the only blemish and 
burden of the day. The superfluity of letters in a world of two ! The 
impertinence of communication from outsiders ! Unless recommended 
by well-known handwriting, the envelopes dunned in vain for attention. 
They littered the tables, were swept aside from one dusting to the other, 
adding their accumulations to uncut magazines, unopened newspapers, 
which waited an hour when thoughts would suffer an interruption or 
a lapse of connection, — the blurred date of their cancellation filing a 
protest against the waste of stamps. 

But it seemed that thoughts would suffer no interruption, no lapse 
of connection. They were willing to go along, so, forever. 

There was one letter on Feltus’s table addressed in a small, femi- 
nized masculine writing, the chirography of an addresser of circulars 


EARTHLINGS. 


647 


or tailors’ bills. He tore it open to light a cigar, anything that came 
to hand serving, rather than keep the cigar and the cigar-thoughts 
waiting. It was not a circular, nor a tailor’s bill : it was a letter : 

dear Feltus, — 

I have made up my mind, somewhat against my judgment, to go 
away for a short time, on an affair of importance ; it may turn out to 
be of supreme importance. Madame Dominique has promised to take 
care of Misette for me, but it is to you that I confide her. I would 
not leave on any inducement did I not know that you would be in the 
same house with her, and that with you she would be as secure as with 
myself. The success of my undertaking depends in great measure upon 
its secrecy. To avoid the comment in the house, I have told Misette to 
give you her letters to mail for me. I shall send hers to your office. 
I enclose my address. 

My little girl, Feltus ! Ah ! you do not know how I rely upon 
your friendship. 

Yours, 

Paul Omer.” 

The date ? A week ago ! Impossible !” Yes, the calendar, the 
papers, confirmed it. Feltus looked at his watch. Midnight, and past. 
What a fool ! What a fool, not to open his letters !” He opened all he 
could find now. Unimportant ! Tailors’ bills, and circulars, in spirit if 
not in fact. If Misette had but written !” 

The address Omer gave was a fictitious name and a Mexican town. 
What was he doing over there now, for news of Misette ? What was 
Misette doing for news of her father? 

There was no passenger- train until noon the next day. A freight- 
train passed every morning about daylight ; he recollected waking and 
listening to it, often. There was no conveyance to be got at that hour 
of the night ; he could walk the four miles, get to the city, hurry to 
the office for Omer’s letters, take them to Misette, explain to her, tele- 
graph Omer, and write him a long letter. He breathed freer when he 
recollected that in all probability Omer would not in a week reach that 
place in Mexico, wherever it was ; Feltus had never heard of it ; it must 
be beyond the usual line of travel or business. Action brought him to 
himself. He put aside his cigar and packed his bag, stopping to write 
a brief statement of the case to Mrs. Middleton. From her note, his 
pen went on to another sheet of paper. He commenced to write to 
Agla6 ; he had covered pages before a pause came in his thoughts. 
He lifted his head from the paper: the past day returned to him, full 
of quiet, actual happiness. In an instant he was submerged almost 
to sinking out of sight of duty : there was rebellion, pleading, in his 
heart, against his resolution. What he had written was merely a begin- 
ning. He would have to write a volume, or a line. Besides, she was 
still the heiress. In a week he could return and explain ; it was all 
clear in his mind now ; at his prayer she would irrevocably enrich the 
hospital and — yes, enrich herself too, irrevocably, with his love, his 
life. To her, then, a scribbled adieu for the present, and a bunch of 

VoL. XLII.— 42 


648 


EARTHLINGS. 


roses ; — left at her window ? on the gallery ? No ! In the summer- 
house, on the spot where their hearts had come nearest to declarations, 
where the murmuring leaves and the rippling current would perhaps 
whisper her the content of this destroyed fragment of passion. 

He completed his preparations, put out the lights, and left the room 
by a gallery window. He felt like a burglar or a kidnapper, gather- 
ing the roses in the night, scratching his hands on the bushes, trampling 
over the violet-borders. He found the path through the woods where 
he had followed her that first morning, and climbed the bank to the 
summer-house. 

Would she ever divine that he sat thus, for an hour, leaning on the 
railing as she had leaned that morning ? One or two stars had dropped 
their likeness in the water ; the wavelets ran over them. The fancy 
seemed weird at the time, portentous, but the next morning he remem- 
bered that it was only a platitude, in which heaven was love, the stars 
the reflection in each other’s hearts, and the little creek the great liver 
of Time, which rolled over the reflections ceaselessly, but would never 
destroy them. It was rather incoherent and mixed, as was, also, his 
throwing two of the roses out into the current and watching them float 
away together. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

Feltus found no confusion about the month in the city. August has 
an unmistakable way of making itself known there. The overgrown 
shrubbery, the dearth of flowers, the intensity of the sun, the murkiness 
of the atmosphere, the mid-day torpor in the streets, — all this is cal- 
endar enough for the natives. Some of the green batten windows on 
the streets were closed, with all the mystery and secrecy of night inside ; 
some were wide open, with glaring exposure of domesticity in desha- 
bille. In shaded courts the negro servants were going about their work 
half clad, the tubs of grpen bushes, and an occasional fountain, giving a 
tropical touch of propriety to the display of person. In the work-yards 
the laborers lay in cool places, their naked busts and backs gleaming 
under perspiration. Every visible person was sleeping or sleepy. The 
cobblers slept with their half-mended shoes in their laps. The pralines 
women nodded over their waiters, making spasmodic switches at the 
flies with their palmetto whisks. The Italian women before their fruit- 
stalls slept in their tilted chairs, with sleeping babies at their breasts. 
The blind beggar asked dreamily over his tin cup, Charit4, madame ; 
charite, monsieur,” all amiss as to the sex of the footsteps. The car- 
mule trotted conscientiously along, jingling his bell in front of a sleep- 
ing driver. The water in the gutters was stagnant and covered with 
a green scum. Flies buzzed over neglected garbage-heaps. Madame 
Dominique herself slept in her short broad rocking-chair, blocking up 
the passage-way of her house. 

She frets, Mr. Feltus, she frets,” she answered when Feltus’s ques- 
tion roused her. She misses her father, and not one line has she heard 
from him, and he has been gone over a week. I have gone every day 
to Mr. Omer’s office, myself, to see if there was not a letter for her. 


EARTHLINGS. 


649 


Nothing, — absolutely nothing. Yes, she is up-stairs, all by herself. 
You had better go right up. Of course it would be better for her to 
sit down here in the daytime, but it is against orders, you know. 
Perhaps the father is right ; we are not her associates ; she might see 
and hear things. But it’s hot up in that garret ! Sacred Virgin, but 
it’s hot ! Go right up. You will be sure to find her.” 

The stairs led him into ever higher and closer temperatures. The last 
story felt as if it were pushed close under a furnace ; the ceiling shed heat 
as clouds shed rain. The door was open. He peeped through it, and 
thought Misette had yielded too to the hour and the weather. She sat close 
against the wall, where she had been driven by the advancing heat from 
the window. The shutters were closed, but through the cracks the sun 
threw little squares of light like dice on the dark floor. Plank by plank 
they had tracked their way, as if the floor were a dial and had to be trav- 
ersed to make good a day. The door of her own little chamber was 
open, and the window, screened by flowers, which had found some faint 
breeze to fondle and dandle them. Her handkerchief lay unpinned 
around her neck j her hands held her tatting quiet in her lap. He had 
never seen her so motionless before, her face so perfectly still, the little 
mouth without a word, a pout, or a smile. He waited for her to move, 
to look up. She might have been asleep, so completely was she sunk 
in thought. For coolness, she had piled her hair on top of her head. 
It made her look older. Her faded calico dress clung to her neck and 
arms where the perspiration had come through. The house was so 
silent, nothing but the hurried ticking of her little clock trying to catch 
up with time. He thought she might have heard him breathe, but he 
had to knock twice before she could disconnect herself from her revery. 

Oh ! Madame Do — Mr. Feltus ! I — I did not think of your 
coming until evening.” 

She did not jump up to meet him as usual. She waited for him 
to come to her. 

He hastened to tell her his distress and perplexity. She listened to 
him with indifference. 

Papa is gone. I have not heard one word from him. He told me 
to write, — that you would send my letters. There they are,” — speak- 
ing studiously in French, and keeping her head turned from him. 
She had spread out the letters, easy to count. He said you would 
mail them ; you would have his address ; and you were not here.” 

“ Misette, you are not as vexed with me as I am with myself” 

He said you would come to the city as soon as you received his 
letter.” 

He was right, Misette. I ” 

He said whatever you were doing that you would come to the 
city; he ” 

Misette, listen ! Listen, Misette ! But no ; read these first. See, 
here are all of your letters. He wrote every day ; he did not miss a 
single day. See.” 

She took them languidly. 

He broke their seals, and forced them into her hand, up to her face. 
She looked at them apathetically. 


650 


EARTHLINGS. 


^‘Read them, Misette; read this, — here, this one. ‘Ch^re petite 
Misette P Now do not laugh at my iDad accent, miss 

It’s all those days — all those days without them !” she said, plain- 
tively, pushing her hair back from her forehead. 

It is all my fault ! I am a fool, a brute, a tyrant ! You know 
whom I remind myself of? Guess !” 

No, she would not guess Oliver Cromwell, nor Napoleon : he had 
to do it for her. He could not get her to smile. He began to talk, to 
tell her about anything, everything, just as she was in the habit of doing 
to him, but she did not listen. He picked up a fan and began to fan 
her; she moved away. Her face was pale. Her eyes had rims much 
darker than they were, under them. 

^‘Well, if you won’t read them for me, read them for yourself, 
Misette.” 

“ I — I wish I had got them before !” 

Little one, what is the matter ? Are you angry with me, your 
stupid, abominable old friend? It was an accident, — an accident 
that would only happen to a fool.” He pulled out his handkerchief 
and mopped his forehead ; it was stifling hot. If you had w'ritten 
to me, Misette ! Why did you not write ? — not once ? I would have 
opened your letters : you know I would. No, you never thought 
of me at all. You won’t even look at me, Misette? Come, let me 
see how you look when you are angry.” He took her hand and 
made her turn around, then drew her out of the corner to the light, 
turned up her little pointed chin with his finger as he would have 
done to a child, and looked laughingly into her eyes. Then she looked 
at him. 

What was passing in her heart, that she looked so at him ? He 
bent over her. Her face so white ! — so frightened white ! — her eyes 
fixed on his. What was passing in her eyes, — her gold-stone eyes? 
He felt his own eyes fastening on hers, beginning to liken hers strangely, 
his own face getting pale. Her lips were open, yet helpless for words ; 
they began to quiver, to tremble. He bent down closer and closer to 
them, he touched them with his. He could feel them trembling in his 
own lips. Misette ! Misette !” he whispered in her ear. She lay in 
his arms. He held her tight ; she was trembling all over now. He 
tried to reach her lips once more; but her face was against him. Her 
ear was there, that he whispered her name into ; he kissed her neck, 
where the handkerchief had fallen, and her hair ; it came undone and 
fell down. He could feel the moist places on her arm, with his fingers. 

He could feel She tried to release herself. Never ! he would 

never let her from his arms again ! 

She raised her face, — her pretty Misette face, full of love for him ! 
— falling to his shoulder again, as if too heavy with expression. 

Misette !” He called softly ; to raise it once more, to read it once 
more ; his lips tangling in her hair ; tightening his arms. 

But this time when she looked up it was different, it was all 
changed, — as if she had been frightened ; it was chilled and stiff. 

She prized herself away from him, her two hands on his shoulder, 
turned, — and he was left alone. 


EARTHLINGS. 


651 


She had gone into her room, — steadying herself a moment against 
the door, — gone, and the door shut. 

He could feel her heart still beating against his ; he was still looking 
down at her neck, through the skin to the blue veins ; her soft brown 
eyes still clung to his. 

Misette ! Misette he whispered, out of the fulness of emotion. 
He stood where she had left him, afraid to move and lose the pressure 
of that slight form in his arms, her lips on his lips ; his own eyes, be- 
yond his control, humid and longing. Perhaps she would come back 
to him ! 

Misette he called louder. His voice reached the next room, — 
reached her. Sobs broke through the stillness. She was weeping; 
crying between her tears inarticulate cries. 

His heart beat, loud, heavy throbs. He sprang across the floor, he 
seized the door, — he would be with her once more. I am coming, I 
am coming, Misette f' he called to her. Tlie door shook in his grasp. 

A wild despair came over his face, then his skin blanched with a 
fear, as hers had done ; he dropped the handle of the door, he leaned 
his head against the wall, then turned, fell in a chair by the table, and 
hid his head in his arms, a groan almost escaping him. The sounds that 
came from the next room were as if torn from his own heart. 

That was not a child’s weeping, — not a child’s sorrow : that was 
a woman’s anguish. 

She might want him ! She might need him ! If he could only 
go to her !” he thought. He would not touch her ! He would not look 
at her ! She might be suffering ! she was so frail and slight. He 
would only talk to her, as in the old days. He would soothe her. 
If — if^her eyes ! her lips ! her soft little arms ! In simplicity and 
purity she had obeyed her heart. He — ah God ! 

So near ! only in that room. She would lay her head on his bosom. 
She would tell him all. He would stroke her hair. He would take 
her in his arms like a child. A child ! The long, low, tremulous wails 
cut through his heart. The sweet, pretty, dainty little girl ! Her 
poetry, her tatting, — that chilled frightened expression of her face ! 
Was she afraid of him? Only one moment by her; if she were kneel- 
ing by her bed, to kneel too. Nothing more, God knows ! Only to see 
if that fear, that white fear, had gone from her face ! Had the tears 
washed that look from her eyes ? 

And the look in her eyes fetched it all to him again. He was a 
man, and young and strong ! 

The sun had begun to withdraw its cubes of light, shutter by shutter. 
When he lifted his head there were but a few left. It might have been 

midnight, it seemed so long, so many hours since He listened. All 

was quiet in the next room too. His heart began to beat again. On 
the table were the letters she had written to her father, and Omer’s letters 
to her, in the same fine handwriting that had confided a daughter to a 
friend. He, the friend, had not written nor telegraphed yet. 

He gathered up her letters. His hands were cold and clammy : he 
could feel that, but it was all. His hat was somewhere : he found it, 
put it on ; he did not look back once, but left the room. He went into 


652 


EARTHLINGS. 


his own room to write ; but he could not handle a pen yet : he pencilled 
a telegram. He had not eaten, had not bathed, since the day before. 
He paused absent-mindedly to remember something, but it was not that : 
he could not recollect what it was. 

Madame Dominique was still rocking her chair in the passage ; the 
light fell on his face as he came out of the shadow. 

What, so soon back, Mr. Feltus? Well, you did not stay long ! 
How did you find the little one, eh ? Nervous, eh ? Yes, I am that 
way too, when I think of her ; my heart is as soft as a rotten banana. 
But it is you yourself who do not look well ! You are pale. I tell 
you, you are pale ! and your eyes, — they tell a tale against your 
stomach ! Ah, you wonft believe me ; you won’t mind what I say ; 
you think I am a fat old fool ; but you will see, there is nothing more 
pernicious than these short absences from the city. That is the way 
with you Americans ! Look at me : I have never been out of the 
city all my life, — have never been up above Canal Street in ten — fif- 
teen years. Look at all our old Creoles ! A little glass of quinquina 
every day, if you would take it, — that would be wise, that would be 
prudent-— — ” 

How was it possible, he thought, that she could not hear those sobs ? 
They must have been as plain here as three flights up. His ears were 
still full of them. They were still cutting, cutting in his heart. She 
was so frail, so delicate. My God ! how can women cry so ? All that 
tumult up there, and no sound down here? 

In the evening he found Madame Dominique already established in 
Mr. Omer’s chamber. She was getting her bed ready, piling soft pil- 
lows all over the narrow, hard, upholstered lounge that served to rest 
Omer ; for Madame Dominique was an early sleeper and a self-indul- 
gent one. 

He had a little package of chocolates, — his usual trifling five-cents- 
limited present, — and a bunch of violets, bought from the oldest and 
ugliest flower- woman on the corner of the street ; that was Misette’s com- 
mand always, the oldest and ugliest, and the world could hardly have 
matched the ugliness and age that had sold this bouquet. Out in the 
street he could think of nothing else for her. Madame Dominique took 
the flowers from him. 

I shall give them to her, Mr. Feltus ; she has gone into her 
room. In fact, I think she wishes to retire. The days are so long and 
hot, and the breeze in the evening disposes one to sleep.” 

So he passed the evening alone. When he thought he was calm 
enough, he wrote his letters, — two. The first he commenced to Omer ; 
then, putting it aside, as premature, he wrote to Miss Middleton, using 
office-paper to give the desirable legal solidity and coolness, his face 
stern with determination. He recapitulated the state of her business 
affairs, giving her some official advice on a point or two. As for her 
endowment plans, as her friend and counsellor, he proposed that she 
wait at least six months, defer all action, particularly until she had had 
an interview with Dr. Jehan. Whatever would then be the result of 
deliberation could be made definite, and beyond self or other reproach. 
Hoping to see her when cool weather permitted her to return to the city, 


EARTHLINGS. 


653 


and regretting that business had put so sudden a termination to his 
pleasant vacation, he signed himself, with conventional assurances, her 
sincere friend. 

This letter he posted himself the next day. The letter to Omer, 
the letter on which he had wasted much time and paper, — he was a 
novice in purely literary exercises, and in such wast^ an amateurish 
quantity both of time and paper, — the letter to Omer, after signing, 
sealing, and stamping it, he did not send. Why, he could not have 
said, but he did not destroy it ; he would have written it over again, if 
he destroyed it, he felt that clearly. He kept it in his pocket, sending 
every day instead of it a short note, a note as if from the Feltus and 
about the Misette of yore to the unconscious father absenting himself 
with confidence in Mexico. 

The next evening Feltus mounted the stairs earlier, anticipating 
Madame Dominique’s bedtime. The door was shut. He knocked 
several times, and could get no answer. He could have opened it if he 
would. He waited outside on the steps ; he even called her. She would 
not come to him. 

He went to Madame Dominique. 

I would not worry her, Mr. Feltus. Perhaps she is not feeling 
well, or maybe she has not learned her lessons or made her exercises. 
She has not even written to her papa to-day, — the first day since he 
went away. One has to be particular this hot weather. She has not 
really appeared well for the last three or four days. Fretting is so bad 
for the blood.” 

Why does she keep the door shut ?” 

Ah ! I ask her that myself. It is her idea, that is all. The room 
is too close to keep the door shut ; and with the sun pouring on the roof 
overhead, — she will cook her blood.” 

The landlady had all the wisdom in the world, he all the ignorance ! 
He stood by her, listening humbly. If she would only talk forever and 
let him glean : any item of information were valuable ! The mystery 
of woman nature ! — what can man understand of it, what make of it ? 
A few external caresses given and taken, — that is the end of man’s 
knowledge about woman! and yet what is life but just man and 
woman ? His own mother who brought him into the world I his ex- 
istence had passed through her, but he had not come any nearer the 
arcana of her sex. If she were here she might enlighten him 1 If he 

could but know one with certainty ! but Madame Dominique, 

obese and vulgar, — the woman in her under all her obesity and vul- 
garity was as impenetrable to him as the woman in little Misette, 
the woman in Agla4, the woman in the degraded specimen who ogled 
men for a living. What had he done, that this should come upon 
him? What must he do to mitigate, extenuate? — in short, to see 
Misette again ? 

Madame Dominique, seeing him stand irresolute, and suffering from 
the heat, advised him to take a ride in the cool somewhere, come home 
early, and get a good sleep. 

He slipped in at an unexpected hour during the day, and mounted 
the stairs softly. The door was open. He entered. A startled cry, and 


654 


EARTHLINGS. 


a white terror-stricken face rushing away from him. He turned like a 
criminal, and made no further attempts for three days. 

But his heart hung like an assassin on the stairway, waiting for 
footsteps, — penetrated like a spy the garret-room closed against him. 

All scruples, at times, abandoned him, and he had to conquer him- 
self before they would return and assure him of his own integrity. His 
arms and lips were wearied with vain caressing of a shadow. Her 
name — when he called Misette^’ now, it was no amber-haired, brown- 
ey^ maiden that responded ; it was a feverish longing, an unspeakable 
desire ; it was a stricture in his heart, when it was not a child’s face lit 
with woman’s love, or a woman’s face with a child’s pale, reproachful 
terror. At times it all appeared a dream ; and some nights another 
dream came to him, — a primeval forest, where he followed in pursuit 
a tall sad lady; and when he awoke he had to convince himself by 
recollection, not recognizing himself as the old Feltus, either by day or 
by night. 

Every afternoon he brought Omer’s letters and gave them to 
Madame Dominique. 

But is she never going to see me again ?” he asked, impatiently, 
when the landlady took them as a matter of course, not giving him the 
option of delivering them. 

I do not know, Mr. Feltus. She asked me to take charge of 
them. I suppose she does not wish to give you trouble.” 

Trouble ! Bah !” 

She looks as if she had committed the unpardonable sin.” 

The unpardonable sin !” he almost shouted at her. What do 
you mean ?” 

“ Oh, that’s only a way of talking. I mean that young girls have 
such scary consciences.” 

There was still no letter from her the next morning. 

Why does she not write to her father, Madame Dominique ?” 

I do not think she is very well, Mr. Feltus.” 

Is she ill ? What is the matter with her?” 

111 ! No, indeed ; only the hot weather, and fretting.” 

The same old excuses ! 

Last night she cried and sobbed like a little baby for her papa. 
I told her it was not reasonable, a great girl like her, — a young lady, 
in fact. I sat by her until she went to sleep.” 

If I could see her, Madame Dominique, I would tell her that her 
father is well, is returning. He is coming home with good news for 
them both.” His tone was humble and pleading. Crying at night for 
her father ! her heart all desolate and black ! and he, — he ! 

Ambrosie would not take her money to-day,” continued Madame 
Dominique. “ She said it was not honest, — that the young lady had 
not eaten a picayune’s worth in a week. I told Ambrosie that that 
was good ; it was better for her not to eat : when one is fretting every- 
thing turns bitter on the stomach.” 

He brought her some delicacies. 

Perhaps this will tempt her appetite, Madame Dominique. Tell 
her she must eat ; tell her I ask her. If I could only see her myself!” 


EARTHLINGS. 


655 


I tell her that of myself, Mr. Feltus.’’ 

The next morning Madame Dominique knocked at his door while 
he was dressing. 

Mr. Feltus,^’ speaking through the crack, it is no use ; I think 
we had better send for a physician to attend to the little one. She had, 
indeed, a hot fever last night. I would not be surprised if she had had 
slight fevers all along, — so much perspiration, so little appetite. I 
could cure her myself, — a little tisane, some hot foot-baths, — but you 
know Monsieur Omer ; he is too peculiar.’^ 

Of course, Madame Dominique, of course. I shall go imme- 
diately, — in one moment.^^ 

Oh, there’s no hurry. I only wanted to ask you before you went 
out. And which one ? — Sourdes or Rocheau 

Sourdes, by all means, Madame Dominique.” 

If you will write a note, I will take it over myself. If he comes 
any time to-day, it will do.” 

I shall go, Madame Dominique.” 

No, that is not necessary.” 

Go as soon as possible after his breakfast, then, Madame Domi- 
nique, so as to catch him.” 

As to that, he will get it in time. I could have left word at the 
pharmacy, but I thought a note from you would be better, as you are 
Monsieur Omer’s friend and he left his daughter to you !” 

Here it is, Madame Dominique. He will come promptly.” 

At mid-day Feltus returned from his office. 

What did the doctor say, Madame Dominique ?” 

^‘Of course he said it was nothing. I knew that myself. A 
little fever: it is all over town at this season. He prescribed some 
simples.” 

‘‘Will you take her this fruit and ask her to see me a moment ? — 
only a moment?” The words began to sound silly from repetition. 
He was dejected and spiritless : the pleading in his voice poorly dis- 
guised the craving in it. He did not care what Madame Dominique 
thought; and what she thought made her kind to tenderness, to him. 

“ It is always the same answer, Mr. Feltus. I tried to shame her. 
‘ Your papa’s friend, your own kind teacher,’ I said, ‘ see what he sends 
you, see what he has done for you. Coming home every day from his 
office to ask about you ; and the first thing in the morning, and the last 
thing at night. No wonder he looks sick and disappointed, his face so 
pale, his eyes so hollow.’ I only talked that way, putting the effect of the 
heat on her. But you must not mind her, Mr. Feltus. She doesn’t 
mean anything : on the contrary, she loves to hear your messages, and 
just now I made the tears come in her eyes; but she always says no. 
But you must not contrary young girls ; they are so curious. I do not 
believe the good God Himself can manage them. I ought not to abuse 
her, poor little thing ! She is as docile as a lamb now. No more fret- 
ting, no more pouting, no more tempers. At first she would not take 
the medicine the doctor prescribed. I had to threaten to go down- 
stairs and make you come up to her, before she would swallow the 
pills. As for putting herself to bed, — oh, no ! not at all ! I thought 


656 


EARTHLINGS. 


I was going to have a scene. At last I took her in my arms and 
undressed her as if she were a baby. She submitted instantly. She 
is very sweet now, but heaven knows if she will take more medicine 
to-night.’^ 

He wrote her a little note ; he had never thought of this before. 
She answered in her best writing, carefully punctuated : 

^^Dear Mr. Feltus, — 

I am not very well. Please excuse me. 

Misette.” 

Ten days afterwards, Feltus, pale and haggard, pushing Ovide aside, 
rushed into Dr. Jehan’s room. 

Doctor, you must come with me. There is not a moment to lose. 
I shall take you. That fool Sourdes says there is no hope.’^ He 
could get no further : he could not control the muscles of his face, his 
mouth. He turned away, sobbing. 

The doctor waited. 

Tell me the case, George, from beginning to end,” he said, quietly, 
at last. 

For God’s sake, come ! Come and save her ! You can save her. 
Her father is not here. Sourdes doesn’t know what he is talking about, 
I tell you.” 

Whom are you talking about, George ? Who is ^ her’ ?” 

Mi — Omer’s daughter. I — Sourdes ” 

“ Sourdes is a good physician, George ; he ought to know,” follow- 
ing Feltus’s confused explanation with nods of his head. 

‘^Time wasted; slow fever; would not take the medicine; got 
beyond him, he says ; eaten up her strength ; no rally, no constitution. 
Don’t stay listening to me. Come, come and see her yourself.” 

“ How many nights have you been sitting up ?” 

Oh, I don’t know : five, — eight, — ten.” 

His voice was rasping ; his eyes burned, inflamed ; his hands, grasp- 
ing and twisting his handkerchief, trembled. 

She was all quiet at first ; then — then she got delirious,” steady- 
ing his voice and talking fast between the breaks ; he — he told me 
the crisis would be last night. Oh, for God’s sake, come ! come right 
off!” 

Tell Ovide to get the buggy.” 

Feltus hunted his coat for him, and helped him to pull up out of 
his chair a heavy massive frame that looked under-tall from breadth. 

“George,” — ^the old doctor laid his hand on the young man’s 
shoulder and looked him in the face, — “ you love that girl ?” 

He had been his friend, his father; in his life, Feltus had never 
ventured to deceive him. His shoulder winced under his grasp. 

“ My God 1” forcing his hoarseness into a whisper, “ she loves me.” 

The old doctor took his arm and shambled out of the room. 


EARTHLINGS. 


657 


CHAPTEK IX. 

Is it papa, Madame Dominique asked the invalid. 

“ As if the train gets in this hour of the evening 

And in the morning you tell me the train arrives in the evening.’’ 

I have to tell you the truth.” 

It is three days since papa left, isn’t it, Madame Dominique ?” 

It is the old friend of Mr. Feltus, the gentleman who raised him 
like a son : he has come to see you, little one.” 

But I do not want to see any one, Madame Dominique. I do not 
like to see people in bed, with a camisole on.” 

Her voice was thin and low, but she was so weak it sounded loud in 
her ears ; when she whispered they could not hear at all, — they had to 
guess her meaning. 

But he is such an old gentleman, Misette. Besides, you let me fix 
you, and he will never know you have on a camisole. I will spread 
this pretty sacque over you, so, just as if you had it on. See how nicely 
Madame Brun has ironed it, fluted all the ruffles, and put a blue bow at 
the neck.” 

The girl submitted quietly. It was a pleasure to submit to the 
soft touches of Madame Dominique’s stout fingers, ’which gleamed with 
innumerable rings half buried in the flesh, the part-payments or loan- 
deposits of delinquent lodgers. 

It is very funny to wait until I am sick, to come and see me ! 
Well, take away all the medicine. You will not tell him I have been 
ill, Madame Dominique, will you ? Only a little indisposed. Put my 
tatting here, on the bed, so that he will think I have been working. 
What was that I was working on last ? Do you remember, Madame 
Dominique ?” 

There ! I shall tell him to come in now.” 

He’s not a doctor, hein, Madame Dominique ? I will not see any 
more doctors, you know ! Oh, no ! that I am determined ! To poke 
me in the side, and put his hands all over me ! Oh, I am going to tell 
papa about that Dr. Sourdes, when he comes. I think he is imperti- 
nent, — very impertinent.” 

But see how impolite you are to him, Misette. You won’t speak 
to him ; you won’t even look at him.” 

No, because he is disagreeable : he is no gentleman.” 

But you don’t mind me, your great, fat, old Dominica. You won’t 
even take a dose of medicine for me.” 

Dominica, you are a woman, — you.” She laughed, — a faint smile 
it was to others. 

The poor old gentleman ! He will be tired to death in the next 
room. He will go to sleep, and snore worse than I did last night.” 

Well, let him come in now. Dominica !” 

« What, B6b6?” 

Dominica, I wish papa would come !” 

“You will take this dose now for me, Misette?” 

“No !” 


658 


EARTHLINQH, 


Not for me 

^^Nor ' 

« Just half of it r 

No ! no ! no ! no !” 

Dr. Sourdes, from his ambush behind the bed, made a sign to the 
woman to desist. 

I wish my hair were combed, Madame Dominique.” 

It looks so smooth, no one could tell it hadn’t been.” 

To-morrow you will comb it, — when papa comes ?” 

Yes, when papa comes, — to-morrow. Now I will pull your plaits 
all around, so. Oh, the beautiful curls at the end ! If your old Domi- 
nica had them on her bald head, they would make a fine cache-peigne. 
Now I must ask that old gentleman in, for common decency, he has been 
waiting so long.” 

“ Now you see, you see yourself how well she is,” exclaimed Feltus 
to Dr. Jehan, after the examination. 

The old doctor sat in his chair, thinking. 

‘‘ Where did you say her father was ?” 

In Mexico.” 

Have you telegraphed him ?” 

‘‘What?” 

“ To return.” 

“You have not given her ” Feltus’s voice faltered, “given up 

hope ?” 

“ No, but he should be here.” 

Feltus waited ; there must be something more for the doctor to say, 
after that long, long visit in the next room. 

“ Send that woman in here, George. You stay in there, and shut 
the door. Who went for the champagne ?” 

“ I went, myself.” 

“Very well. Send the woman in here. I must talk to her, and — 
shut the door.” 

He was not to be concealed by the mosquito-bar this time, nor 
blurred to her vision by delirium ; his face must be in parade-dress. 
Feltus summoned the old, almost forgotten smile, the old easy free way 
of comradeship, as he entered the little room and accosted Misette gayly, 
his knees weakening, his heart fluttering at fear of the reception. 

“ Oh, Mr. Feltus, I am so glad to see you ! When did you come 
from the country, Mr. Feltus?” She was his light-Hearted, capricious 
butterfly of a Misette again ! She had forgotten. It was for him the 
first moment of heart’s ease in three weeks ! such a remorseful, black, 
conscience-stricken period for him ! 

“ Mr. Feltus, Dugas told me that mocking-birds have no language 
of their own ; they talk — or sing, I should say — every other bird’s 
language, but they have no language of their own. How sad! I 
wonder if God never gave them a language ? Suppose I had no lan- 
guage of my own j that I talked English, or French, or German,” — 
she was not strong enough to make a grimace as she usually did at that 
word, — “all alike; talked French as if I were not French. But if I 


EARTHLINGS. 659 

did not have the language I would not be French ; and — oh, yes, I 
know, I see, but not distinctly. Mr. Feltus.^^ 

^‘Yes, Misette.’’ 

She looked at him, with the wondering infantile gaze of the sick. 
Then a blush began to rise, and the look, the look that he had prayed 
against was coming into her countenance. She recollected. She tried to 
avert her face, to hide it in the pillow. 

Misette, Misette ! my little one ! my precious one !’’ He threw 
himself on the floor by the bed and put his mouth close to her ear. 
He had never tried his voice before in accents of love ; the titles had 
only existed, hitherto, in his imagination. Do not try to turn from 
me that way ! my darling ! my heart ! Are you afraid ? Are you’^ — 
sinking his voice still lower — ashamed ? My little Misette, my little 
girl ! I love you, your old Feltus loves you.^^ 

He' was afraid to watch her ; afraid of future torment from his 
heart, his conscience. He placed his hand on the other side of her face, 
and pressed it against his own. She must not feel the tears, though ! 
— for he was crying, as if he were a girl making confession. 

Misette ! you are my flower, my bird. Misette, I think of you 
all the time, I dream of you. When I am away from you, I long to 
be with you ; when I am with you, Misette, when I am with you 
He raised his head gently. She was not afraid ! That killing shame 
was gone ! The pure, placid, calm love ! — her eyes could not hold 
it all ; was the love not strong enough to hold her ? — her life to his 
life ? Her lips were open, her eyes glowing ; waiting for more 
words. “ When I am with you, Misette. There ! So He put 
his arm under her pillow and raised her against his shoulder, as he 
had seen Madame Dominique do, and Madame Dominique herself 
could not have been more adept. “I could not hurt you, Misette. 
When one loves, you know, one never hurts. It would hurt me too 
much to hurt you. My pet, my sweet one He sought light, sweet 
aerial words, words to court and caress a humming-bird ; talking fast 
to meet the expression in her face. When your papa comes, will 
you tell him you love me? I shall tell him I love you. What a sur- 
prise it will be, eh ? And then we will get married and live together, 
and never be separated.^^ She could not speak ; she would not have 
been able to speak had she been well ; she could not even raise her 
hand to him, as she would have done had she been well. 

He raised it for her and put it around his neck. Misette, may I 
kiss you 

He had learned that, never to kiss on an invitation in the woman’s 
eyes. For a woman will declare her eyes forgers, before she would 
acknowledge such truthfulness. 

Let me look in your eyes again, now, as I did at first. Oh, you 
cannot make your eyes keep a secret. Everybody could have read it. 
May I kiss your hand now ? There’s no one in the world has such 
pretty little hands, so fine, so white; like angels’ hands, — eh, Misette? 
I believe you make your songs, your poetry, with your hands.” He 
wanted to surfeit her with sweet words ; he wanted her to be happy in 
her love. 


660 


EARTHLINGS. 


He laid his cheek to her forehead ; it was cool, clammy, on the 
surface, but he might have felt the lingering heat in it. 

You will answer me now ? You are not afraid any more? You 
love me, Misette 

^^Yes.’’ 

And you will tell your papa so 

Yes.’^ 

And you know I love you, Misette 

“ Oh, yes ! Sure.^’ 

And you will let me stay here and nurse you all night 

^^Yes.’’ 

And you will take the medicine from me ?” 

Yes.’^ 

Everything ! Everything 

The pretty peignoir had fallen off, but she did not notice it,^nor the 
camisole open over her breast. He covered her. He took the long 
plaits of hair and brought them around over her; they looked like 
ropes of gold against the coarse white gown. She did not notice any- 
thing but his presence, glorious to her, her face beaming with the love 
it had been beyond her strength to overcome or conceal. 

With presence of mind, Feltus extended his hand behind him, at 
a touch on his shoulder, and received the medicinal potion from the 
unseen Dr. Sourdes or Madame, the potion of life-or-death impor- 
tance now. 

You will take a dose now, Misette?’^ 

Yes.^’ 

The chairs were being pushed back in the next room. He laid 
her down, her lips wet with the mawkish syrup, but her face happy. 

Madame Dominique entered, a waiter of glasses in her hand. Dr. 
Jehan followed, pulling himself along by Ovide’s shoulder. 

And now,^’ he said, we will all have our glass of champagne 
together.” 

“ Champagne ?” repeated Misette, in her faint whisper. It is not 
medicine, Mr. Feltus?” 

The old gentleman could not resist the temptation ; he took the 
waiter from Madame Dominique, and held it between him and the open 
window, while Ovide filled the glasses. They were tall and thin, with 
a gilded arabesque playing over the faceted sides. 

^^See,” he said, as the liquid foamed up, ^^the rose of wines. The 
brutish conception of swilling champagne from mounted finger-bowls ! 
Cr}^stal, as clear as the spirit of the grape; a little gold outside, to 
loosen the gold inside, as large at the top as a good-sized mouth, and 
deeper than a sigh of pleasure. They are worthy,” looking at his glasses 
with admiration, of growing on the vine that fruitens into Roederer. 
— And now, mademoiselle,” turning to the bed, what do you think 
of your first taste of champagne ?” 

If she should take a prejudice to this, too ! 

Madame Dominique, or George, you give it to her.” 

Misette sipped it weakly. She was tired again. 

It is— it is good,” reviving ; it is delicious ! But, Madame 


EARTHLINGS. 


661 


Dominique, it is divine ! It makes me feel — it makes me feel,” as the 
inspiriting sensations came over her, — it makes me feel like flying,” 
a smile breaking open her mouth, showing all the pretty little white 
teeth at once, like the first day Madame Dominique saw her, hanging 
dressed in black to her father’s finger. 

“ You hear that, eh !” exclaimed the old doctor, delightedly. Cham- 
pagne is the drink for ladies. They would all go to heaven, if they 
thought they could get it there.” Dr. Jehan’s eyes were more indiscreet 
than Sourdes’s fingers, if Misette had known it, and Madame Dominique 
was making traitorous revelations, in a deft way ; but the champagne, 
or Feltus, kept her eyes away from the earth. 

^‘Now we must shut the window again. See, she is sleepy 
already.” It was the champagne. The eyelids closed : she fell asleep, 
abandoning at last the prolonged, suspicious watch over the privacy of 
her body. 

George,” said Dr. Jehan, when he and Sourdes got into the next 
room, make that despatch peremptory.” 

You — ^you ” The young man was seized again with his tremu- 

lous nervousness. 

I shall keep her up till he comes.” 

« There ” 

Complications,” briefly cutting off rejoinder. 

How can you despatch to him ? He must already have left,” 
whispered Sourdes. 

He will not know until he comes !” Feltus articulated each word 
with an effort ; his heart and lips felt frozen. It will kill him 1” 

If such things killed,” the old doctor almost sneered, how many 
people do you suppose would be alive to-day ?” 

Feltus then remembered what Dr. Sourdes had never forgotten, — 
that old Dr. Jehan had once, himself, lost a sixteen-year-old daughter, 
— so long ago, it belonged to the mythological days of New Orleans. 

Let me help Ovide take you down-stairs,” he said, submissively. 

No, I shall stay all night, — stay till her father comes. Sourdes 
was correct.” 

It was what people called his brutal manner. He seemed to think 
of it himself, and muttered, either for his own or Feltus’s benefit. 
There was no help from the first. God Almighty Himself could not 
have saved her.” 

Feltus held a little box in his hand, playing with it mechanically, 
twisting and turning it over and over, feeling the edges with his fingers ; 
he did not know himself what he was doing, what it was, as he sat 
studying the doctor’s face, waiting for one more word ; trying to over- 
hear the whispers passing between him and Madame Dominique. At 
last it caught his eye. He hurried down to his own room with it. 

It was a little pasteboard bon-bon box, Misette’s tatting-box, with 
a bright, glazed pictured bird on the cover. Feltus had given it to her 
one Christmas, — when, he could not remember ; but she had written the 
date underneath. He had picked the thing up from the bed where her 
fingers had dropped it when she tried to raise her hand to his neck. 
In it was her unfinished piece of lace for Madame Brun’s baby, — 


662 


EARTHLINGS. 


the rosette pattern, she had made him notice. She must have stopped 
working on it shortly after that visit of his when he brought her the oak 
branch. Her hands had then been idle in her lap for one, two, almost 
three weeks ! her hands idle, her head bent in thought, as that day ! 
Her shuttle, her spool of thread, her samples of patterns, — she made 
her own patterns of tatting, as she made her own songs, — and under- 
neath them a sheet of paper, folded to lie smoothly, — a sheet torn from 
her exercise-book, — perhaps an exercise. He opened it. There were 
two pieces \ all the lines on one had been scratched and corrected, on 
the other they were neat and clear. She had been trying, at last, to 
write a song : 


I. 

I saw the angels fly last night, 

Their wings are soft, their wings are slow. 

I saw the angels fly last night 
Across the heavens so blue. 

I heard the angels talk last night. 

Their words are sweet, their words are low. 

I heard the angels talk last night, 

I thought ’twas falling dew. 

I looked at angels’ eyes last night. 

Their eyes so bright, eyes all aglow, 

I looked at angels’ eyes last night. 

The stars seemed breaking through. 


II. 

The angels’ wings came close to me. 

The wings so thick, the wings so white, 
The passing wings, so close to me ! 

I put my hands to stay their flight. 

The angels’ words dropped to my ear. 

The words so sweet, the words so light, 
The angels’ words, that angels hear, 

I listened hard to hear them right. 

I fastened on their eyes my eyes. 

The angels’ eyes, that look on God, 
And, clothed with wings, began to rise. 
To rise with looking, through the sod. 


III. 

I soared with them, on my new wings ; 

I talked with them up in the air ; 

We woke the dead with whisperings, 

All coffined angels, everywhere. 

We flew like white clouds through the skies, 
Beyond the stars, the moon, the sun ; 

We flew till we gained Paradise 
And looked on God, our journey done I 


EARTHLINGS. 


663 


CHAPTER X. 

There was no more to be thought about it than that there had been 
a mistake, — some misunderstanding, — a perversion of a hope. Talk 
about it was to be disposed of in badinage. 

Agla4 fell to the earth through the visionary landscape that had 
encompassed her. Or rather she trudged her way back, a weary way, 
a reversed road of the cross, to some sure starting-point again, suffering 
and soreness ignored, or borne with stoicism in a preoccupied attempt 
to save appearances and her own dignity. There were moments — how 
many to the hour at first ! — when a deception appeared calculated, an 
outrage premeditated, when re-establishment of Feltus’s character (and 
with it the character of all men) were the boon of all the earth to her; 
other moments, when the humiliation of self was pitiless, when thought 
shamed and strangled her like a hangman’s rope around her neck. 

If he were blamable one day, she was apt to be the criminal the 
next. At night, generally, life was arraigned and the lot of woman 
considered in tears. And love, that pure, holy flame, which lights 
maidens to a sacrament and a sacrifice, — love dwindled to a glow- 
worm before her eyes, breeding by myriads in swamps, fantastic de- 
bauchers of the senses, luring them into and abandoning them in miry 
places. 

“ And how many dark places there are in life ! How many glow- 
worms ! How many loves ! What a simple tale if there were but one 
love ! The delightful reading to women !” 

For the instability of love is the loathsomest lesson to learn by 
women. There are no hereditary transmissions of heart-knowledge to 
make the learning of it easier. Experience lies between womb and 
tomb, and each woman has to bear her own experience, as she bears 
her own children, through individual joy and suffering. 

The endowment-scheme was what stood most erect among the ruins 
of her heart and mind. It assumed, from its position, the grandeur of 
a life-mark, not a decorative monument to philanthropy. When large 
lights go out, the smaller ones become visible. She would have been in 
darkness but for this candle-illuminated refuge from her thoughts. It 
ended by monopolizing them, making her a prisoner within her own 
sanctuary. Dismissing all but the legal assistance she had obtained from 
her counsellor, she went avidly to work to methodize what had been 
agreed on between them ; with characteristic overzeal pushing to exag- 
gerated proportions the self-imposed tax on her bounty, assessing not 
her fortune, nor her charity, but her misery. How those plans had bal- 
anced up and down during those beautiful summer days, fluctuating with 
the rise and fall of their whims and fancies ! After the endowment, 
there might be Europe again in her life, or life again in Europe. She 
would be better fitted after this to appreciate an old, experienced world 
civilization. The men and women over there would not be so repug- 
nant to her crude simplicity ; there was a pleat, a fold, a double, in the 
social structure which had escaped her eyes before. She saw excuses, 
reasons now, where hitherto were only condemnation and contempt. 

VoL. XLII.— 43 


664 


EARTHLINGS. 


But the more logical the conclusion became, the more oppressively un- 
bearable she found it. 

And with all this elaboration of theory and practice, only two weeks 
were got rid of. Two weeks in a long life ! She had exhausted her- 
self of smiles, small-talk, badinage, business ; she had completed all, 
but the actual giving of her money to the Charity Hospital ; and only 
two weeks gone ! Why had she not consumed more time, — three weeks, 
or a month? It was enough to discourage her! What was there to 
do now? What was there to do hereafter? Her twenty-five years 
seemed no longer than twenty-five days, in the long journey of years 
before her 1 

A journey of one week longer in this pleasant country home she 
shuddered from. She must go to the city. She must see Dr. Jehan : 
his consent at any rate was imperatively necessary to so large a transfer 
of her interests. She craved stimulus, help ; and in the city, the city 
of her childhood, girlhood, school days, there would be at least the dis- 
tractions of the past. The tomb of her father and mother would be 
sympathetic ministrants now. There were churches, there was the 
hospital. If vague ideas crossed her of prostrating her young healthy 
body as an oblation on the hard floor of hospital service, it was only 
because she was young and healthy, was a woman, and, woman-like, 
would atone for an unmerited by a wilful disappointment. 

In the city 1 At this season of the year ! After you have been 
away so long and lost your acclimation I You are crazy Mrs. 
Middleton’s objections had to be combated ; and it was no slight task, 
grounded as they were in common sense. 

Agla6 had to pose for freakish, coquettish, volatile, frivolous, spoiled, 
and selfish, to obtain a hearing; and when consent was finally extorted, 
the trip was obstructed, almost abandoned, because the aunt insisted, 
in exuberant affection, u])on personally accompanying her niece as 
chaperon. The officious kindness of women as a class makes it bard 
for the individual member to maintain the sex’s traditions of honor in 
the keeping of certain secrets. 

Agla^’s persistence finally secured a two-days’ leave of absence, a 
maid, the temporary opening of the city house, but, by way of rider, the 
substitution of an aged dependant as chaperon for convention’s sake. 

But Agla^’s eyes seemed to decrease the value of everything they 
looked at in the city : they discounted every memory she had cherished 
for years. Her reflections were a continued interrogation of discontent : 

Is this the city that pleased me, even in Paris ? Are these really 
the houses I left behind me ? And the people ! What has become 
of their quaintness, their picturesqueness? All is dirt and decadence! 
This is not tropical warmth, but the heat of Inferno ! The evening 
breeze is a feverish breath, redolent of pestilence !” 

Dr. Jehan’s house had been palatial in comparison with the little 
tenement, not four blocks away from it, where she and her mother had 
lived, — where her mother had been eased of what at best had been an 
unsatisfactory lease of life. Dr. Jehan’s house was now of common- 
{)lace red brick, standing on a detestable banquette, in front of a boggy 
street, whose gutters had ramified from side to side. She was afraid 


EARTHLINGS. 


665 


to look at her old home ! What illusions had absence cast over every- 
thing ! She understood now the prolonged expatriation of her country- 
men ; they preferred the realities of Europe to the realities of home, the 
illusions of home to the illusions of Europe. She had anticipated her old 
friend Dr. Jehan’s reception of her ; had enjoyed the thought of substi- 
tuting spoken for written words ; she had been so circumscribed in letters, 
he had never known the inexhaustible fund of gratitude and affection that 
remained to his account in her heart. Half-formed speeches had rushed 
to her lips as she stood before his door ; she saw herself excited, emo- 
tional, but happy withal in the unfettered expression of sentiment. 

Dr. Jehan was not at home, neither at the first, second, nor third 
visit. He was attending a patient. The only orders he had left were 
that he should be undisturbed. 

After all, she must pick up her gay, indifferent face, her repartees and 
laughter, and return to the country, settle down again to gossip plati- 
tudes with Mrs. Middleton : whether old Madame B^raud were really 
ill treated by her nieces and nephews ; if Lina and Jack were really quar- 
relling their way to happiness ; how Mrs. So-and-so advocated the use 
of paper instead of towels for cleaning silver and knives. 

This prospect made her envious of the solitude of the little oven in 
her family tomb, which by a last stroke of a feline fate had turned 
from a sacred, imposing, venerable mausoleum into a defaced, stuccoed, 
bake-oven-looking box, with a new, near neighbor, a miniature Greek 
temple, (jonsecrated to the remains of a noted coffee-house keeper of her 
childhood. 

There was nothing accomplished, — nothing. After all, what could 
she, a woman, expect to do by herself? Friends? She had no friends ! 
One man, who was absent, exhausted the roster ! 

After her last day of furlough, she sat through twilight, into the 
night, on her little bedchamber gallery, speculating her way to a pro- 
gramme of action, or inaction. 

Young Bertram, in a rush, as if he had been telegraphed from her 
aunt, broke upon her, full of importance and pertness. 

Has he been here ?” 

Who?^^ 

The man !’^ 

Which man V’ 

The Monte-Cristo, the incognito, the great mystery-man !” 

What are you talking about, Bertram 
Oh, come now. Cousin Agla6 

It took more patience than she thought at the time she possessed to 
extract an explanation. 

This is all I know about it, although of course I wasnT going to 
throw anything in the way of my getting a lark in the city. Some of 
the servants — old David, I believe — reported a tramp hanging around 
the gate road. He wasn’t a tramp at all, for he spoke to Tilly, and she 
says he is a gentleman and a foreigner. He asked lots about you, and 
Tilly swears she didn’t tell him anything of consequence ; but you know 
Tilly : when she opens her mouth I never expect her to close it until I 
see her shoes come out. He did find out you were in the city, and wrote 


666 


EARTHLINGS. 


your address down, for he started right off, and met Cesar carrying the 
mail to the post-office. He asked Cesar if that were your address, — 
reading it out of his note-book, — and Cesar, not to be outdone by Tilly, 
shows him some letters addressed to you. And after that Tilly swears 
^ before Gord^ she never told him where Miss Agla6 was in the city. 
Well, we had a lively time after that ! Assassination, burglary, kid- 
napping, or a high-handed courtship by some impoverished foreigner, — 
there wasn’t anything that wasn’t going to happen to you or your for- 
tune. Of course Aunt Middleton was for coming instantly to the city, 
just as she was, with her white wrapper on. Then, after a council of 
war to which everybody in the house was invited, it was decided to send 
me. I would be more protection than Aunt Middleton, and you would 
be less alarmed at seeing me come in quietly as a matter of course, for 
I was to say that I had come to order supplies, and you were not to 
suspect a word about the man. And you are to return with me positively, 
to-morrow evening, nolens volens. My aunt is not at all well : she wants 
you, she needs you. If the said mysterious stranger comes, I am to receive 
him with pistols and shot-guns, which are to be found on the third shelf of 
the second armoire in my aunt’s dressing-room. Here, I have the written 
directions ; you can read them for yourself. Lucina is to sleep in the room 
with you, I am to sleep in the next room. Lucina must make up the bed 
immediately; linen on the left-hand side of the table-cloths in the linen- 
closet, mosquito-bar in the cabinet in the upper hall : she will know 
it by the darning on it. And now. Cousin Agla4, if you will just see 
about it all, I will be much obliged, and, if you don’t mind, I shall take 
a little ride to the lake. Don’t sit up for me : aunt gave me a pass-key 
to let myself in quickly this evening.” 

The next morning Bertram had the satisfaction of paying a deserved 
compliment to his aunt’s prescience, while he allayed her apprehen- 
sions with the telegram, — 

Came on business. Meet him this evening. Keep you posted.” 


CHAPTER XT. 

Midnight struck from the cathedral clock. The hoarse, prolonged 
whistle of an engine screamed through the strokes. The watchers could 
hear the train coming into the city, slowing up the river front, tolling 
its warning bell. 

Dr. Sourdes, sitting by the table reading, under the shade of a lamp, 
rose, and walked to the window. 

‘‘ That must be his train,” he whispered to Feltus, who was sitting 
on the ledge, looking up, as he had done for hours, silently at the stars. 
The young man nodded. 

“ You meet him at the door. I shall wait for him in your room. 
There must be no disturbance here.” 

He turned to the bulky figure of Dr. Jehan on the lounge in the 
corner, and began to wake him, with precautions. 

“Eh, Sourdes I What is it? A change?” the old man questioned 
before the heavy eyelids were raised. 


EARTHLINGS. 


667 


That’s his train, I think.” 

‘^Oh, ay ! Very well. Help me up, then.” 

I shall see him down-stairs. You stop him here.” 

He helped him to the chair he had occupied at the table. 

Sourdes !” Dr. Jehan whispered to him. The colleague nodded 
his head. 

Feltus walked away down the stairs by himself. It was these 
whispered intercommunications that shattered him, — the underhand 
negation, the almost refusal of hope. 

There had been rallies, strength, brightness. He had discovered 
them, had forced the doctors, fiercely, over and over again to ac- 
knowledge them. Even now, even now, if they would only see it ! 
They were too yielding from the first. They were parleying with 
death, — heaven knows ! consenting, perhaps. He had had to fight 
alone against them, against the disease. He had had to threaten and 
storm to get a new trial of medicines. 

She was so bright. She had no fever, or hardly any. She took 
anything they gave her, anything from him, now. Oh, they were quick 
enough to see adverse symptoms ; they grudged the favorable ones. 
Madame Dominique might have stood by him, but she was in the con- 
spiracy too. Yet, when the physicians had abandoned all hope, and had 
left him to die, Madame Dominique had wrestled alone with the yellow 
fever, had brought him back from the sweat of death. He wished to 
God she had let him die ! 

How could they think, how could they talk, of surrender? They 
should fight ! fight ! fight ! There was madness in his brain ; his 
blood boiled, as it had boiled in Virginia when they talked of surren- 
dering to another foe, — surrendering to superiority of force ! — superi- 
ority of numbers ! — surrendering live soldiers ! He clinched his teeth, 
standing in the open door-way, looking at but not seeing the silent 
street. He was in that war-time, shouting, charging, leaping; there 
were cannons, bayonets, guns 

A thin silhouette, too thin for a shadow, rushed into the door, 
passed him. He caught it in his arms ; he held it tight, struggling, 
wrestling. What was it he had prepared to say ? That Misette loved 
him, that he loved Misette ; that they were to be married ; that he 
had written a letter to him : — surely that was not it ? Though it was 
all he did say, until Sourdes drew them both into Feltus’s chamber. 

Oh, papa!” said Misette at last, — she had been looking at him 
fixedly so long, as if she had to go a great distance to recognize him, — 
they have given me some cham-^champagne. They are going to 
give you some, too. It is delicious. You must drink some now. It 
makes you feel like flying. It makes Madame Dominique feel like 
flying. It makes you feel like an angel. It is so good, papa ! You 
never tasted anything so good ! so good !” 

She was almost asleep again before they could fetch it to her. 
Her eyes brightened and grew stronger. She began to talk, the words 
slipping out of themselves on the slightest motion of her lips. 

I thought I was dreaming. I could not believe it was you, papa. 


668 


EARTHLINGS. 


Did you come last night? You have been away so long ! Too long ! 
Nearly a week, eh? I shall get up to-morrow. I am tired of this 
bed. Madame Dominique put me to bed. I let her, she looked so 
angry. And, papa,^^ — she moved her eyes slowly around, to see that no 
one could overhear her whisper, — “ that doctor they brought here, you 
know? — well, he was indiscreet, he was very indiscreet. Papa, you 
must not allow that The tears came into her eyes. 

Where is Poland, Madame Dominique ? Where is Roland ? I 
do not hear him sing. I dreamed Roland was dead. Where do they 
bury dead birds, papa ? They rise up human angels, don’t they, papa ? 
— the birds and all the animals. I think so. Roland must have a 
little hearse, a little coffin, and all the other birds to sing, and — and 

Papa, they wanted me to take medicine, but I would not; I was 
very particular about that. They gave me some pills which made me 
dreadfully ill, the day — the day after you left. I wouldn’t take any 
more. I was almost well when they gave me those pills. Madame 
Dominique ! Where is Madame Dominique ? I want Madame Domi- 
nique.” 

Here I am, Misette.” 

Madame Dominique, are my clothes all ready ? I must get up 
now and dress. Ask them to leave the room. My shoes are worn out, 
though. Papa will have to buy me some more shoes.’^ 

To-morrow, Misette.” 

Well, to-morrow, then ; but have everything ready, Madame Domi- 
nique.” 

Every time they gave her champagne she looked almost well, smiling 
and talking to them quite naturally. 

Mr. Feltus said that my clock was unwell, that was the reason it 
would not go.” She laughed at the idea. ‘^Mr. Feltus brought me that 
branch of oak, from the forest.” It was hanging by a string from 
the foot of the bed, — a withered branch now. “ It is curious to have 
some of a great forest in my little room ! 

“ They said — ^they said — that is funny ; I cannot recollect. I have 

had it on my lips all the time. They said — they said Madame 

Dominique, what did they say? I heard it so plainly in my ears when 
they said it. ‘ They said the stars were dead.’ Mr. Feltus knows, be- 
cause I told him. 

* I asked the angels flying by ; 

They said, The stars are dead.’ ” 

She had to come back from a greater and greater distance every 
time, after a period of somnolence. Is that right, Mr. Feltus ? does 
it sound right to you ? 

‘ And when I looked up in the sky, 

Where are the stars? I said. 

I asked the angels flying by ; 

They said, The stars are dead.’ 

I did not compose that, you know ; it came just so to me. I 
wonder if the stars are dead? We cannot tell, you know, until night ; 


EARTHLINGS. 


669 


and with people you cannot tell till the day, for you might take them 
for sleeping. Papa, will you pull the curtain back, so that I can see 
the stars to-night? Bah! as if the stars could die! That is poetry; 
poetry is not truth. Poetry has wings like angels ; like angels flying 
by. Poetry is the angel of truth. When truth dies, and gets buried, 
you know, it rises up into angels, just as we do, — only the angel is 
poetry. Mr. Feltus, what am I talking about? I do not know, you 
know, the words come so quick and fast. 

Papa, you are not going out to-day ? A holiday ! That is good. 
Now you see we could take such a nice walk and visit the ships. I 
wonder if the Friga is gone away yet ! Mr. Feltus, do you know if 
the Friga is gone away? Ask Madame Dominique. Perhaps the 
Friga is dead. ^ They said. The ships are dead.’ I could say that 
just as well as the stars, couldn’t I, Mr. Feltus ? I wonder which is 
better ? But they did not say the ships, they said the stars. I wonder 
which is better ? but if they said stars I ought to say stars, oughtn’t I, 
Mr. Feltus? Suppose the ships were all to die !” 

The day was cooling ofi* into evening. The shut houses were 
being thrown open, the open ones revealed a matutinal freshness. The 
southern breeze, a mingling of gulf fragrance with land fragrance, 
came fanning through the sun-baked streets. 

Agla6 with the young Bertram followed rather than accompanied 
the stranger, the mysterious stranger, of the night before. 

He was not mysterious-looking, although he was an evident for- 
eigner. He guided himself by frequent consultations of a slip of paper 
held in his hand, making no attempt at sociability with his party. 

Exhilarated by the boldness of her determination and the un- 
hampered freedom of her action, the young lady felt her spirits rising 
once more to their normal altitude. She eagerly listened to the heroic 
promptings of her heart ; this occasion was not only an avenue of 
escape, it was a road to future strength, hope, ambition. She knew it, 
she felt it. Already the past weeks were being forgotten, the pain had 
subsided to a chafing smart ; it promised to disappear into that unde- 
fined limbo of memory where personal mortifications and embarrassing 
slights are confined. 

Her thoughts were busy with what she intended to say and do 
during the impending interview. She jumped from conclusion to con- 
clusion in her argument. She went over tfie communication the stranger 
had made to her the night before, point by point, accentuating this and 
that particular almost audibly ; raising her head, gesticulating as if she 
were already talking to Mr. Omer; even smiling and letting her eyes 
moisten with emotion at some imagined exchange of tendernesses with 
Mr. Omer’s daughter. 

What would she say and do, this young girl of sixteen, when the 
comprehension of it would come to her? — this sudden opening of the 
world to her, the chains of poverty broken, the prison doors extended 
wide? Would her heart stand still, as Agla4’s had done ? And her soul, 
would it seem to fly like an escaped bird ? — to soar up and up, singing, 
higher and higher ? 


670 


EARTHLINGS. 


Ah, if she had suffered as Agla6 had ! if she too had longed, and 
bruised her heart in ineffectual revolt against destiny ! 

Feltus had not lost himself more completely in the shock of 
battle last night, than Agla6 in these magically blooming intentions 
of hers. 

‘‘ Here is the street,’^ said the man, stopping at a cross-street. 

And there is the house,’^ pointing to the tall one on the corner. ‘‘ Up 
in the fourth story.’' They quickened their steps towards it; the 
door was held open by a brick. 

There was no antechamber; the broad, easily ascending, winding 
stairs went direct from the vestibule. An open window looked over a 
square paved yard, where men and women were sitting on door-steps 
or tilting back in their chairs, — all silent, holding their chins in their 
hands. They suffered the intruders to pass by unchallenged. 

“ Make him go first, Aglae,” whispered the boy ; but she gathered 
her dress up in front, without turning her head, and mounted the steps, 
pushing by them both. 

She stopped at the landing to recover breath. There was no one 
visible. The light came into the long hall through the open doors 
of empty chambers on each side, — bedchambers, furnished with the 
clean showiness of Creole lodging-houses. Always in advance, without 
speaking or turning her head, she pushed her way onwards, up an- 
other flight of stairs, through another long hall with open bedcham- 
bers, furnished evidently for a diminished rental. Agla6 thought this 
the fourth story. She looked into one room after the other expectantly, 
the inquisitive eyes of the young boy following hers. The stranger 
corrected her by pointing silently to still another floor above. 

The appearance of artificial stillness, the. prepared isolation of the 
place, were remembered afterwards, not noticed then. It made them 
unconsciously soften their foot-falls. This last stairway was narrower, 
steeper, and uncarpeted ; the papering on the walls stopped half-way up. 

There was no choice of rooms on the last floor ; the one door stood 
open, propped also with a brick. 

There’s the roof left, Agla4.” Bertram plucked mischievously at 
her sleeve, sinking his voice to the quietude around. 

The room was empty. Advancing easily and rapidly to a door 
beyond, Aglae saw the backs of people all looking in one direction. 
She saw an open window letting in the sunset glow on a low, narrow 
bed. She saw a half-reclining young girl reposing against a pillow in 
the arms of a young man, her long fair tresses of dishevelled hair 
shining in the evening light, falling over her, over the bed, the ends 
clasped to the face of a kneeling figure. 

The young girl’s face was towards the window ; her hand was raised; 
she was pointing with her finger to the evening sky outside. 

The hand fell ; the eyelids dropped, — lifted ; the eyes turned from 
the heavens and slowly travelled through the room, over the faces of 
the people, over the head of the kneeling father, and for the last time 
Misette’s thought travelled back, — the longest distance yet, — to look in 
the face bending over her. 

Mr. Feltus.” 


EARTHLINGS. 


671 


Feltus, raising his eyes to give the word, perceived, over the bended 
heads of the people, over the sounds that followed the breathless hush, 
a tall, white figure in the door- way, — an awe-stricken face, — Agla6’s. 
He looked again ; it was gone. Was it a vision? 

turned and fled. The others had disappeared, had left her 
alone in their panic. In a corner of the staircase she found the boy 
Bertram, his head against the wall, sobbing hysterically. The stranger 
was nowhere to be seen. 


CHAPTER XII. . 

The gossip in the neighborhood was that old Dr. Jehan’s health 
was restored and that he was going to resume practice. The little office 
which had been closed for months was opened. It was not surprising, 
considering his specialty, that his first client was a lady. The consul- 
tation was a long one, as any one would have remarked if kept for 
two hours by curiosity (as the lace-mending woman was, opposite) at a 
front window awaiting the issue of it. 

The old practitioner sat listening to his patient, Agla6, unweariedly 
following wherever her impetuous flow of eloquence led, only exacting 
that she occupy the low seat close to the side of his strong ear. 

Her papei’s had fallen on the floor ; her hat, parasol, and gloves 
lay scattered a little everywhere on the furniture ; her excited face was 
in contrast to the calm daintiness of her white attire ; her eyes were 
feverish, her hands nervous. 

The garden which lay under the bedchamber window was on an 
even footing with the office, not the difference of a step between the 
fig-tree, rose-bushes, and artichokes with their overhanging canopy of 
blue sky and their shadow-spotted brick walks, and the sombre little 
room, redolent of disease and suffering, with its half-concealed appli- 
ances and instruments, and its shelves of books publicly labelled with 
private diseases. A great window, a casement half the size of the wall, 
led the eye so successfully into the garden that all the chairs naturally 
faced that way, turning their backs on the medical testimonies against 
the feebleness of the human body. 

A curtain had never been known over the clear glass of the case- 
ment, and the doctor’s old morocco-covered arm-chair might have been 
nailed to the spot, so immovable had been its position for a half-century 
before the window and garden. 

There was not much about women, either as to body or mind, 
which had not come before the venerable doctor and his venerable chair 
in the course of time. Novelties had quit the practice about half-way ; 
for years now, maladies and patients had been a well-known repetition ; 
there was a lack of originality in suffering and in the description of it. 
A new readjustment of tears, sighs, and exclamations was about all to 
be expected ; perhaps an occasional vivid word, minted new and hot at 
the moment by a convulsion of agony ; with pathos enough always to 
be relied upon. 

“ There was then absolutely no well woman in the world ! Why 


672 


EARTHLINGS. 


could not some other plan be devised ? Why put into being minds and 
bodies constructed with such infinitely minute particularity for pain and 
suffering, with all the chances of health and happiness against them 

This had been his exclamation during the first years of liis revolt 
against his profession ; when the What would you do in my place, 
doctor ?’’ brought, in thought behind the medical solicitude, Blow my 
brains out — the impressionable time when he had echoed the ejacu- 
lation of a wretched mutilated negro woman, One might know that 
God was a man.’^ 

The mind of Agla4 had in forty-eight hours amassed an amount 
of self-torture sufficient, if not dispersed, to make a tragedy of her life. 
She was now pleading for his consent to the desperate fatalities of a fifth 
act. Despoliation, self-abnegation, sacrifice, martyrdom, — the world 
offered scaffolds enough for suffering. She had two races in her to 
furnish words and feelings ; nothing but extremes w'ould assuage. 

In the torrent of her reiterations, explanations, arguments, protesta- 
tions, Dr. Jehan, listening with all intentness apparently, was inwardly 
guessing, Is it some one in Europe ? Can George be the man The 
diagnosis of the case being ended, only the cause remained to be deter- 
mined. He did not oppose, nor discuss, nor try verbally to push his 
private investigation ; he was merely waiting for that moment of calm, 
when, the slag of feminine passion being got rid of, the exhausted 
woman becomes the reasonable one. 

Here is Mr. Eeltus, sir,^^ said Ovide, opening the door. 

The doctor restrained Agla^’s attempt at evasion. He was rather 
provoked that Eeltus had come so soon. 

Stay where you are,” he said to her. “ It is better to have the 
whole thing out now, — to settle it this evening.” 

She sank down into her seat, leaning her head behind the doctor’s 
chair, on the soft stuffing which had received so many covert female 
tears. 

Eeltus did not see her when he entered, nor observe her hat on the 
table. He was wan from mental and physical strain, his voice was 
listless and exhausted. 

I got from him all I could, sir, — from Mr. Omer,” he said, stand- 
ing as if delivering a message. It seems Mayeur had been making 
overtures to him for some time, had sent message after message. He 
would not listen at first ; but when the man said that he, Mayeur, w’as 
dying, that there was no earthly hope for him, that his cry was to see 
Omer, to make explanation, obtain forgiveness, and die in peace, pity 
gained his attention. Then the man said that there was money left, 
easily procurable, money that belonged to the original fund intrusted 
to Mayeur, and — well, Mr. Omer made a bare subsistence, and the 
women in the house, Madame Dominique and the others, were always 
advising him to do one thing or the other, suggesting this and that, 
for his daughter. He consented to undertake the journey for her, her 
sake entirely, not his own. He made up his mind the very day a ship 
sailed for Vera Cruz; he thought he could do it in a round trip, — be 
away at most two weeks. It was represented to him he could do so. 
When he arrived in Vera Cruz, he found that the village Mayeur lived 


EARTHLINGS. 


673 


in was not really distant, but it was almost inaccessible ; it took him 
double the time he expected to get there. Mayeur was in extremis ^ — 
could talk very little at a time, and very slowly ; he was surrounded by 
a crowd of half-breeds, one his wife.^^ 

Feltus paused : he had been talking fast, as if to get to the end 
quickly. 

Well?” said the doctor. 

It amounted to nothing, absolutely nothing. Mayeur is a wretched 
coward, and was in mortal terror of dying without the absolution of Mr. 
Omer’s forgiveness, that is all. He had sunk to the degrading super- 
stitions of his surroundings. Mr. Omer is convinced also that Mayeur 
wanted to wreak some kind of posthumous vengeance on Evezin, whom 
he still hates with maniacal fury, or, failing him, on the woman Evezin 
loved, — whom Mayeur himself fell in love with and was, presumably, 
repulsed. Mayeur persists that every cent Evezin owned rightly be- 
longed to Mr. Omer, — was made with his money; that this woman 
knew it, but she would not disclose it because she expected to inherit 
from Evezin ; which she would have done, if he had had time to make 
a will before dying. Some woman in Paris,” the young man explained, 
weariedly. 

Exactly what the man told me. My story is corroborated in every 
particular.” Agla§ rose from her chair, appearing as unexpectedly 
before Feltus as she had done not three evenings ago. She almost 
screamed the words in her excitement. “ You see, doctor, it is true. 
I know it is true : I feel it ! My uncle Evezin’s money, — it rightly 
belonged to — to — Mr. Omer !” 

‘‘ After Mr. Omer left Mayeur,” she turned her pale restless face 
towards Feltus, and explained to him, a telegram came for him. They 
opened it. The dying man made a terrible scene. He must have been 
sincere. His prayers induced some one, a brother-in-law, to volunteer on 
a mission to me, — to appeal to me in the name of justice. He got the 
directions from the first messenger, set off immediately, found me, con- 
vinced me. Why — why did not some one anticipate this, investigate 
it? Why were not some means taken to prevent this — this crime? 
I do not want it ! I will not have it ! That money ! If I could tear 
it from my life !” 

Why,” asked Dr. Jehan, in a business way, without noticing her, 
— why was Mr. Omer detained so long returning ?” 

He missed the return trip of the ship ; would have had to wait 
for another one. There was yellow fever in Vera Cruz, and rumors 
of quarantine. He undertook to come by rail through Texas.” 

And the other fellow, starting after him, risked the chances, quietly 
waited, and arrived here a day before him !” 

Yes, one day before him. I do not know how Mr. Omer could 
have calculated, what his idea was. Every imaginable delay and acci- 
dent seemed to occur purposely to thwart him. Of course he thinks it 
all a punishment, — running after money and losing his child. He says 
one would expect nothing else from an Omer.” 

Feltus’s voice echoed his friend^s bitter despair. 

^‘He told them, of course, of Miss Middleton, and her address?” 


674 


EARTHLINGS. 


“ Mr. Omer ? Yes ; I had mentioned it to him.” 

And that is all, George ?” 

Mayeur told him the name of the lady, the woman, that Evezin 
— that both loved, which Omer refuses to mention. He says that if the 
rest were all credible, — which it is not, — that if the obtaining of the 
fortune were a dead — perfect certainty,” correcting the adjective, he 
would not touch it at the price, Omer as he is. There was a kind of 
statement or confession Mayeur had prepared. I have it here.” 

You had better read it, George.” 

But Mr. Omer wishes it distinctly understood that he refuses to 
have anything more to do with the affair ; he has empowered me to say 
so. He cannot think of it, speak of it, for horror.” 

But I do not ! I do not intend to let it rest so ! This does not 
concern Mr. Omer ! This concerns me ! Ah ! surely, surely !” Agla6 
wrung her hands, imploring first one, then the other. 

The doctor leaned forward to listen, turning his ear around towards 
the young man. At the first word he arrested him. 

George,” speaking slowly, almost reluctantly, I wish you would 
send Ovide for C4lestine ; or perhaps you had better go yourself.” 

Had Dr. Jehan not left Aglae and her troubles behind him, in 
thought, — had he, when the door closed on the young man, but di- 
rected his face, majestic in gravity, to her side, — had he, in the silence 
that followed, but compelled the truth from her, as he had once done 
from George Feltus, that truth would have been the passionate cry of 
her heart : Oh to have been that dying girl, to have been that dead 
girl in his arms !” 

But the doctor’s eyes were closed, and the heart retained its cries. 

Madame Jehan looked more rigid, ascetic, and spiritual than ever in 
her light, diaphanous dress of black. One would have said she was in 
summer mourning, if for twenty-five years since the death of her only 
relative, a mother. Heaven had not placed her beyond the sad possibility 
of wearing mourning again. 

The doctor drew his wife to the arm of his chair and held her there, 
his hand on hers. 

“ When I arrived in Paris ” Feltus began to read in French. 

Pish ! Translate it, George ; give the sense in your own words.” 

When Mayeur got to Paris he was received with open arms by 
the Confederate colony there, then in high favor with the court. As 
the possessor of a large sum of money to invest, he was sought out by 
the business-men. He went into all the gayeties of the place, gayeties 
and place both new to him, and irresistible at his time of life. 

“ With Evezin he naturally soon became on the most intimate terms. 
Evezin induced him to take apartments with him ; in short, they lived 
together, Evezin introducing him everywhere. Evezin was a lion in 
society, but he was completely out of money, had dissipated the last 
cent of his fortune. He persuaded Mayeur to form a partnership, — 
kind of speculating brokers, — Mr. Omer’s money furnishing the capital. 
Their first ventures were successful ; they made few losses and some 
fabulous hits.” 

Ovide had softly opened the door during the reading to let Mr. 


EARTHLINGS, 


675 


Omer in. Feltus stumbled in his translating at sight of him. Omer 
placed himself quietly in a corner. 

Then it appeared that their friendship began to cool. Evezin on 
his feet again wanted to get rid of Mayeur. He became jealous of 
Mayeur’s attentions to a certain lady’’ — ^Hhe name has been erased,” 
explained Feltus. “ They had a violent quarrel about the lady. The 
partnership was broken up. Mayeur continued the business alone. He 
suffered some disasters ; news from the Confederacy became more and 
more gloomy ; he lost his nerve under the responsibility ; confesses that 

he drank ; gambled to retrieve himself, — and ” Feltus skipped in 

the manuscript. ‘‘ The crash came. He had not a cent. He went to 
Evezin, who was enormously rich, implored his assistance, was turned 
away with insults. He went to the lady. She refused to say a word, 
confidently expecting to be Evezin’s heir if she survived him. Now 
Mayeur maintains that Evezin cheated him in the settlement. His 
reparation to Mr. Omer consists in the prayer that he will sue the 
Evezin estate and subpoena the lady as witness : under cross-examina- 
tion she would be forced to tell the truth.” 

Doctor ! doctor !” cried Agla4, rising again, and beginning to talk, 
I resign it ! I resign it !” 

“ Silence !” commanded the doctor. 

‘‘I came here to state” — Mr. Omer advanced before them; they 
kept their eyes off him, as if they were afraid to look at him — that 
I have just parted from the person who took upon himself to search 
out this young lady and impose upon her the worthless ravings of a 
defaulting agent. I saw Mayeur. The man is totally irresponsible, 
unreliable: his scheme is simply one of nefarious revenge. Had it been 
otherwise, — had I needed the money, not for myself, but for another, — 
could the possession of it change my life this day into happiness, — I 
would refuse it, and forbid further consideration of the affair, just as 
I solemnly do now.” Omer looked them all in the face, one after the 
other, — Feltus, Agla4, Dr. Jehan, Madame Jehan, — pronouncing his 
determination loudly and distinctly. There could be no doubt about 
his firmness. He was the most self-possessed one in the room. 

“ But I ! I !” cried Agla6, — I do not consent. I shall go to this 
woman myself. I shall extort from her a confession of the truth. 
Here !” — She stooped to the doctor’s feet, hunted a paper on the floor, 
and found it. See, in this envelope is her name, her address. I have 
not opened it. I intended giving it to Dr. Jehan. I shall take it into 
my hands, this affair ! I refuse to let it drop. I shall tear this en- 
velope open before you all. I shall read the name . . .” 

The doctor rose. He snatched the paper from her hand. Go ! 
go !” he said, pointing to the garden. Go, all of you.” 

His face was purple. 

They did not hesitate, but filed past him without a word : following 
the direction of his extended finger, they walked down the alleys of 
the garden, and disappeared in a thickly-covered summer-house. 

His wife was the only one left ; she tried, but could not release her 
hand. The last footstep had died away on the bricks. The doctor 
leaned over and closed the casements. 


676 


EARTHLINGS. 


Then, all restraint gone, he pulled his wife with a sudden jerk in 
front of him. For the first time in twenty years he looked her straight 
in the face. The sight of her seemed to unloose every flood-gate of 
passion. His face became black, his neck swelled, the veins in his eyes 
filled with blood. A rage was coming on him as it had once come on 
him before at sight of her. She knew it, and trembled, the sanctified 
expression leaving her face, and leaving it exposed to a hideous distor- 
tion of womanly guilt and terror. 

The doctor forced back the blood from his head, his eyes, his neck. 
He compressed his lips until the aged, sickly pallor was restored to his 
countenance. He strove to banish the contempt, the rare degrading 
contempt of man for woman, from his eyes. 

C^lestine,’^ he said, his voice was even pitying, what is the truth 
of all this?” 

She did not answer. 

“ By God ! but you shall answer me !” surged in his heart and 
thundered in his ears, the color mounting again to his head. He waited 
until it ebbed again. 

‘^C4lestine, what is the truth of this?” 

She tried to pull her hand away from him. 

Celestine, if you do not answer me, I swear by the Almighty I 
shall call those people in from the garden, I shall break open this en- 
velope, I shall read to them all the name, the name of the woman who 
made Evezin a scoundrel and Mayeur a thief.” 

He had begun calmly, but his voice swelled to the size of the room, 
the hand that held her trembled. 

If you do not answer me, before I leave this spot, before that 
sun goes down, I shall make over every cent of property I possess to 
the Charity Hospital. I shall leave you, when I die, to beggary and — 
infamy.” 

His voice had sunk lower and lower : the last words, a guttural 
whisper, were for her ears alone. In his face she read the horror of 
what would befall her. A cry of pain broke from her over the mangled 
hand he tossed from him. 

There had been an interview in the garden between Agla6 and 
Omer, — a violent one, with prayers, entreaties, tears, and self-accusations 
on both sides. Felt us was a silent, powerless witness. When they 
were called by Ovide into the office again, no one but Feltus noticed 
the absence of Madame Jehan. 

Agla6,” said the old doctor. He paused. It was almost, in the 
tense moment, as if another paralysis had palsied him. ‘^Agla4, my 
girl, you must take my word for it. There is nothing in this paper, 
nothing but the name of a woman. She could testify to nothing but her 
own shame. Your — uncle — Evezin — was a scoundrel — but not a thief.” 

Agla§ stood before him, obedient, submissive. She had made her 
last effi)rt, fought her last fight. ‘‘ I shall do whatever you advise. 
Your advice shall be a command. I wanted” — her lips trembled — 
to do good with the money. It is just as you say. If — if I had only 
been one year earlier !” She picked up her hat and gloves. 


EARTHLINGS. 


677 


The doctor knew that the calm had at last come to her, that a 
sensible decision might now be expected from lier ; but the day had to 
close for him ; he had done hard work, and he craved night and rest and 
darkness. 

He always kissed young girls when they went from him, — it had 
been a weakness, like figs and roses and artichokes, — but he forgot it 
this time. Agla6 bent over him and kissed him on the forehead, where 
the temples were still throbbing. She did not see, but Feltus saw, that 
the crumpled envelope clutched in the doctor^s fingers had not been 
opened. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Madame Dominique no more intended to rent her garret-rooms 
than she intended to rent her bedchamber altar with St. Joseph’s shrine 
on it, — garret-rooms fetching little profit anyway, and not being desira- 
ble even at a low price. But she did rent them within a week after Mr. 
Omer gaye them up, before she had had time to accomplish the ar- 
ranging, the cleansing and purification, the necessary effacement of the 
visit of death, whose traces Hygiene permits to remain in the heart 
alone. 

And they were rented, as she proclaimed in the market, by a young 
lady, an American, — a Miss Middleton. If you believe me, I had not 
had the courage to go up-stairs to show them to her. True ! it weighed 
my heart ; such a grief for a woman of my size and age, you under- 
stand, and the doctor has already warned me ! There it was, the room, 
just as that poor man had left it, forever, he said, and no wonder : every- 
thing was there except what he carried away in his valise. She rented 
it just as it looked before the event, — the open door, furniture, flowers in 
the window, those that were not dead, the pen and the ink that were 
left on the table, the scraps of paper, the little pictures pinned on the 
wall, — you know the little pictures from handkerchief-boxes and calico? 
she had a passion for them, poor child, — the very little bed where — 
God take the child under His blessed protection ! It seems it is to be 
a species of retreat. The young lady comes once or twice a week per- 
haps, and sits up there. She appears to be a little ‘ Ute montee.^ Per- 
haps she has a religious vocation. I do not say it is not mysterious ; 
for myself, it is peculiar. She never looks to the right nor the left, 
never asks a question, walks straight up-stairs, looking sad all the time. 
And she is of an ignorance ! Would you believe it ? she knocked 
and knocked at Mr. Feltus’s door one day, thinking it was my apart- 
ment; all that magnificence for the comfort of my big, fat, pork-eating 
body ! I did not undeceive her : Mr. Feltus himself desired it. She 
does not even know Mr. Feltus lives with me. As for Dugas, Madame 
Brun, and all those children, they are simply not in existence for her ; 
and Roland, he could split her head with his singing, she does not care 
any more for him than if he were a ‘ Pape.’ No use to ask questions 
about that one ! She pays, not a week, but a month in advance at a 
time ; and without asking !” 

Our intentions are to our subsequent actions what the foam-sprays 


678 


EARTHLINGS. 


cast ahead of the waves are to the ebb and flow of an ocean ; nothing 
more/^ thought Agla6. 

She was seated in Misette’s little room. It was one of her days 
there, — one of her little escapes from the society her set called the 
world.’' A woman has to have them, these little escapes and these 
little refuges ; some miniature solitude where she is sure of finding only 
herself, where she can look over her accumulation of experiences, rum- 
mage in her rag-bag of life. 

This little room was Agla^’s ^^high mountain,” and this day was 
one of the last to be passed there : she would be going away soon for 
an indefinite period of time. 

Agla^’s intentions, as she considered them now, had been simple, 
feasible, and natural from a human point of view. They were, pri- 
vately, to lead the life of one predestined to an involuntary crime. 
She tried conscientiously to afflict herself as she thought she should 
be afflicted, God having apparently waived the responsibilities of His 
office, sending her, instead of the continued unhappiness she craved, 
health, strength, and inevitable moments of serenity, even happiness. 
But the glorious benefits bought with (what she persistently considered) 
another’s money remained, do what she would. She could not, with 
all effort, destroy them ; she could not control her faculties, could not 
make a convict of her imagination. A sunset would bring her Naples ; 
a white stucco fa 9 ade seen in the moonlight, Venice; the Alps were 
always in the clouds above her, and daily life touched incessantly secret 
forgotten pleasures and memories, and started the reflex motion of intel- 
ligent appreciation in her mind. 

She had been allowed to carry to fulfilment her charitable endow- 
ment ; but it went neither in her name nor to her credit : Misette” 
stood in gilt letters on the black marble tablet that commemorated the 
deed in the hospital antechamber; and ‘^Misette” was the name that 
the young girls were told to bless, when the privacy of a separate ward 
and individual attendance were secured to them. The agony-room, too, 
was given in Misette’s name. 

But Agla6 did not deceive herself when she sat thus, at the end of a 
year, the beginning of another summer, in the garret-room. The hours 
passed here were not hours of sorrow, nor of expiation. She had 
thoughts here, impossible elsewhere. She came here for these thoughts. 
She had feelings here, hopeless elsewhere. She came here for these 
feelings. Here, in Misette’s room, surrounded by the evidences of 
Misette’s deprived existence, before that little white-draped bed, — here 
she could be the woman she was, here cry out to herself this last day, 
as she had cried that first day in the room, “ Yet, all in all, existence 
for existence, better hers than mine. Better be dead in the arms of one 
who loves, than alive and rich and loveless.” 

The door was opened without a knock. 

Feltus stood before her. What his intentions had been need not 
be specified. He knew she was up in the room above him ; for a year 
she had had days of pilgrimage to the fourth story, — days of internal 
conflict with him. And it seemed to him that victory over self had 
never been more complete, his purpose never more firmly re-established, 


EARTHLINGS. 


679 


than at the moment when the thought struck him that some day she 
might leave those rooms forever, that she would not be there, even for 
him to wrestle with himself about, that the future glimpse in passing, 
even, would be denied him. Did he know himself what he was doing 
when he started from his chair and hurried to her as a wearied desert 
traveller hurries to an oasis in the middle of his journey, though a vow 
may hold him to it that he pass by and avoid it ? 

What he did and said, what she did and said, what both together 
said and did, it was all an impulse of the one great love that inspired 
them both; it swept them into unconsciousness of self, into incohe- 
rency. He had that old unspoken declaration in his heart, the one that 
should have been delivered one year ago. It had become an indispensa- 
ble part of his service of self-communion ; it had twisted and curled 
in his cigar-smoke ; it had, with loud declamation, prompted by some 
dream, awakened him at night ; it had come to him from his law- 
books, in court ; it had driven him from his club; but it did not answer 
to his call for it now. 

And she, — what could a woman not say, at such a moment, if 
shame did not tie her tongue and a wild fear palsy her heart ? 

It is always the way : there is no preparation avails for love. It 
is a great miracle that takes place, — the greatest miracle, after all, to 
earthlings. It cannot be described ; it can only be stated. Those who 
have never been in love would not understand a description of it. 
Those who have, — to them, any description would be inadequate. 

Madame, widow, C^lestine Jehan did not save a soul, but she secured 
a fortune. 


THE END, 


VoL. XLIL— 44 


680 


THE EXPERIENCES OF A ROPE-WALKER, 


THE EXPERIENCES OF A ROPE-WALKER, 

A S I have been walking and doing many other things on the tight- 
rope for very nearly sixty years, I may perhaps be permitted to 
claim some experience of a high position in life. I have certainly 
passed the greater portion of my time above the heads of ordinary folk. 
This being the case, I must try and see whether I cannot tell something 
of interest about the profession I have followed so long. 

I need not say that there are several kinds of rope-walking, for one 
has only to visit an American circus to see more than one variety 
practised in the same ring. We in the profession recognize three legiti- 
mate forms, of which one, however, is almost obsolete nowadays. 
Taking them in the order of their difficulty, and therefore, I presume, 
their attractiveness, there is first the high rope, which is fixed as near 
the clouds as the performer dare venture or the law will allow ; secondly 
the low rope,” on which the more youthful performers disport them- 
selves, and which is stretched only some seven or eight feet from the 
ground ; and lastly the old-fashioned ascension” rope, which I have 
referred to as being out of date entirely. This last is in all probability 
the oldest form of tight-rope walking, and I believe dates back to 
classic times. It receives its name from the fact that the performer 
walks up a rope which is stretched from the ground to some convenient 
elevation forty or fifty feet away. When I was young it was still 
popular ; and even to-day we often speak of a separate performance on 
the high rope as an ascension.” I need not say that the difficulty of 
this form of rope- walking is trifling as compared with that now gener- 
ally practised. 

I may also mention wire-walking as a branch of the profession ; 
but it is not actually so recognized by us. Curious as it may seem to 
an outsider, it is much easier to walk on a wire than on the regular 
hempen rope, and, with a little perseverance and some natural ability 
to start with, a man may learn to walk the wire within three or four 
weeks at the outside. I once had a man as an assistant who never 
walked a rope in his life, but shortly after he left me he was advertised 
as a marvellous wire-walker and obtained a good salary. 

A rope-walker is like a poet, born and not made. I myself began 
to toddle along a rope when 1 was only four years old, and in my eighth 
year I gave a special exhibition on the high rope before the king at 
Turin. It is a usual thing, no doubt, for the apprentices in a circus to 
be taught rope-walking among their other lessons, but only a few of 
them ever get beyond the rudiments of the art. The usual system of 
teaching is to make the pupil walk along a narrow board the width 
of which is daily decreased until it is barely thicker than an ordinary 
rope. Posturing and the assumption of graceful attitudes are taught 
in this manner, and finally the pupil is introduced to the rope itself. 

The apparatus which a leading rope-walker uses appears in the 
public eyes to be simple enough, but in reality it has to be constructed 


THE EXPERIENCES OF A ROPE-WALKER. 


681 


and arranged with the greatest of care. The rope I generally use is 
formed with a flexible core of steel wire covered with the best Manilla 
hemp, and is about an inch and three-quarters in diameter. It is 
several hundred yards in length, and the cost may be five hundred 
dollars. The rope is coiled from either end on two large windlasses, 
and when supported by two high poles the windlasses are turned until 
the rope is stretched perfectly taut. It takes me, as a rule, several days 
to adjust this simple apparatus to perfection, — a fact which caused me 
to abandon my performances at Staten Island, where it was necessary 
to remove the rope after each exhibition. At the top of each pole is 
a small platform, for the purpose of resting ; and on one of these plat- 
forms I usually place a temporary dressing-room, where I can make 
necessary changes in my attire. I may mention here that the suit of 
armor in which I first appear is of great weight and exquisite work- 
manship, the gauntlets having once belonged to the celebrated tenor 
Mario. As a rule, my other costumes are of the least possible weight, 
while the shoes are an ordinary pair of fine leather ones with soft soles. 
It is, I think, a popular error to suppose that a rope-walker’s feet are 
exceptionally large or muscular. Mine, I am told, are rather below 
than above the ordinary size. 

The balancing-pole, I suppose, fairly comes within the classification 
of apparatus. In my own case it is made of ash, is about twenty-six 
feet long, and weighs some forty or fifty pounds. It is made in three 
pieces, so as to be easily taken apart and to occupy but little space when 
I am travelling. Naturally, my journeys into every quarter of the 
civilized world have taught me to reduce my baggage to the smallest 
possible dimensions ; but, as it is, I am forced to carry a great deal, 
and when I visited Australia years ago I remember I carried over 
sixty tons of baggage with me. 

I am often asked as to my sensations when walking the rope ; but 
if by that is meant whether I feel fear or nervousness, I must answer 
decidedly in the negative. When walking I look some eighteen or 
twenty feet ahead of me, and whistle softly or hum a snatch of a song 
as the humor may seize me. I also invariably keep time in my step to 
the music the band is playing, and I find that helps me wonderfully in 
preserving my balance. With my own weight and that of the bal- 
ancing-pole there must be about two hundred and thirty pounds bearing 
on the rope, which naturally gives considerably, this sagging being one 
of the chief difficulties we "have to encounter in keeping our balance. 
I prefer to perform in the open air ; for in a hall or a theatre even of 
the largest dimensions the vitiated air found at the elevation at which 
my rope is always stretched is most unpleasant to breathe. 

Nowadays I never practise, and even my most difficult tricks, such 
as turning a somersault over a chair placed in the middle of the rope 
and landing with my feet on the other side of it, are usually performed 
without premeditation, just as the whim seizes me. This enables me 
without effort to vary my programmes at every performance, and pre- 
vents them from becoming monotonous to me. I could remain a year 
or even longer without ever setting foot on a rope and then go on and 
tread it as safely as though I had been in constant practice. As an 


682 


THE EXPERIENCES OF A ROPE-WALKER. 


illustration of the slight amount of practice I require for a new trick, 
I may mention my bicycle act. Some years ago, when bicycles were 
somewhat of a novelty, it struck me that I could utilize one in my 
performance, and I accordingly had one constructed according to my 
directions with a groove in the wheels to fit the rope, but otherwise of 
ordinary fashion. I ordered it to be sent to me some time before the 
performance, so that I could try it, but it came just as I was making 
ready to appear. I was as pleased as a child with a new toy, and, 
mounting it at once, I rehearsed successfully in view of a large audi- 
ence, who probably thought I had been practising for months. 

I never take any stimulant before walking the rope, and take no 
especial pains to keep myself in good condition. My attendant rubs 
me down carefully when my journey is ended, and I then take some 
light refreshment. Otherwise I only live plainly and regularly, merely 
avoiding eating a heavy meal shortly before a performance. Finally, 
I may say that I prefer exhibiting without a net stretched below me, 
I think it would make me so nervous as almost to lead to the accident 
against which it is intended as a safeguard. 

If I myself do not feel nervous, I am afraid the many persons I 
have carried on my back across the rope have felt a trifle perturbed, 
save when they have been professional assistants. In reality there is 
nothing in the world for them to be afraid of. All they have to do is 
to sit perfectly still, refrain from clutching me too tightly around the 
neck, and leave the rest to me. When I am carrying any one over for 
the first time, I chat to him continuously on any indifferent subjects I 
can think about, and try in this manner to relieve his anxiety, and 
I always caution him against looking downward when in mid-air. 
Somehow, though, he never seems quite happy, and I always detect a 
gasp of relief when the end of the rope and the platform are reached. 
More than once the victim has devoutly exclaimed, Never again 

My well-known trip over Niagara Falls was doubtless productive 
of nervousness to those gentlemen whom I carried over on ray back, 
and for myself it was one of the experiences of ray life. I was ele- 
vated some hundred and fifty feet above the torrent, and had to walk a 
distance of nearly twelve hundred feet. During the winter of 1858 
I took a journey to Niagara Falls with the idea of seeing whether the 
passage were practicable or not. I found that it was, and made up my 
mind to the trip, but was obliged to defer it, owing to the masses of 
ice and snow on either bank. Accordingly, it was not until June 30, 
1859, after several weeks of preparation, that I made my first trip 
across Niagara Falls on a hempen rope. The rope itself was unlike 
that which I use at the present time. It was formed entirely of hemp, 
and was about three inches in thickness, and its adjustment in place 
was in its way quite an engineering feat. The rope cost several thou- 
sand dollars, and remained in position for nearly two years. When 
the first exhibition was given there was not a little excitement. Special 
trains were run by the railroads, including the New York Central and 
the Great Western and Grand Trunk of Canada; while an enormous 
stand some half-mile in length erected on either side of the Falls was 
filled with people. I continued giving exhibitions until 1860, when I 


MOODS. 


683 


crossed over on stilts before the Prince of Wales, who was making his 
well-remembered tour through America and Canada. I have been 
photographed while standing still in the centre of the rope ; and photog- 
raphy in those days was no lightning process. I have walked across 
enveloped in a sack made of blankets, have wheeled a barrow across, 
turned somersaults, cooked a dinner, and, as I have said, carried a man 
over on my back. 

It is doubtful whether I shall ever repeat this performance ; for it 
would be difficult since the purchase by the nation of Niagara Park 
to arrange for the congregation of spectators. When I crossed, thirty 
years ago, the railroad companies managed the whole affair ; and the 
reason for the enormously long spectators’ stand and fence they erected 
was the desire to shut out what are in this country, I believe, eupho- 
niously referred to as deadheads.” I cannot attempt to describe the 
feelings excited in me by the sight of the hundreds of thousands of 
people who thronged the enclosure, but as to the trip itself I was per- 
fectly unconcerned : I knew I should be as safe as though I were walk- 
ing down Broadway. However, though I cannot truthfully say that 
I feel any symptoms of old age creeping over me, it is probable that 
I shall not much longer remain before the public ; but when the day 
comes that I see my rope taken down for the last time and lay aside 
my balancing-pole, never to resume it, I shall doubtless feel in no fit 
mood for congratulations. 

J. F. Blondin. 


MOODS. 

U PON a mountain-summit high, 

A trysting- place of earth and sky, 

Three frierfes once stood in silent awe, 

Each contemplating what he saw. 

One gazing on the landscape found 
In changing features only sound ; 

To him it was a memory 
Of some majestic symphony. 

Another in the vastness caught 
The essence of a poet’s thought, — 

The measures of a noble rhyme 
Enduring as eternal time. 

The third — a stranger to those arts 
That moved and thrilled his fellows’ hearts — 
Kemembered with a nameless dread 
The face of one whom he saw dead. 

Frank Dempster Sherman 


684 


AT LAST, 


AT LAST: 

SIX DAYS IN THE LIFE OF AN EX-TEACHER. 

SECOND DAY.— THE TEACHER IS TAUGHT. 

I T was with some trepidation and not a little sense of hypocrisy and 
guilt that I approached my hammock the day that little Alice had 
kindly consented to let me teach her a little, but noffin' ’bout dolls, 
remember.” My landladies, as quaint a couple of old persons as I 
could have imagined, but nevertheless true women, appeared to fear I 
would become lonesome for lack of society, and perhaps abruptly leave 
them : so they were so attentive that it was almost impossible to 
escape from them without seeming rude. Their conversation was well 
worth listening to, if only for curiosity’s sake ; for, although they were 
poor, — the last remains of a family which once had been influential, — 
they were living storehouses of about a century of country wit and 
wisdom, and could express opinions brightly on any subject. They 
knew everybody in the vicinity, — everybody who ever had amounted to 
anything in business, politics, or the professions, — and their inoflen- 
sive gossip was so quaint as to make me long to write a History of a 
Rediscovered County.” 

I would call them ladies, had they not been possessed by the one 
demon of savagery which seems hardest to exorcise for some natures 
otherwise inofiensive and considerate, — a persistent impulse to manage 
the affairs of other people. Evidently they thought me a brute for 
having sought a summer resting-place where there were no children; 
for, no matter what the subject of conversation at the table, those well- 
meaning old women would deftly pass it to and fro between them until 
by some imperceptible proceas it got back to children, and how good 
some children were — or would be, and how bright others could be, — 
bright beyond the expectation of those who best knew them. This 
manifest effort to change my opinion began before I had taken a meal 
in the house. 

You don’t like children ; leastways, so I’ve been led to suppose,” 
said Mistress Drusilla, as her sister always called her. 

Not when I am resting,” I replied. At home I am obliged to 
endure forty or fifty of them through five days of every seven, and I 
think I’ve earned a respite.” 

^^Most children are pests,” said Miss Dorcas, — her sister always 
addressed her by this name and title, except when they were alone 
together, — but it takes exceptions to prove the rule, for I know a 
young one in this neighborhood whose manners, I must say, wouldn’t be 
thought out-of-the-way in some grown folks who are considered quite 
proper.” 

She’s quite a little lady, Alice is,” said Mistress Drusilla. 

‘‘Indeed she is,” said Miss Dorcas. “She’s original sometimes, 
and that makes some people think her queer ; but, sakes alive, original 


AT LAST. 035 

folks are so scarce in this world that they sometimes puzzle the very 
elect/^ 

And Alice is so original/’ remarked Mistress Drusilla. 

Evidently my hostesses were alluding to my new acquaintance, 
and were desirous of changing my opinion of children by bringing us 
together. I would not have objected, had not their managing mania 
been so apparent: as it was, I determined to combat their purpose, 
even if it were necessary for me to find new lodgings. I had seen 
managing old women before. 

“ Alice comes of real good stock, too,” continued Mistress Drusilla. . 

Her mother was a ” 

“Spare me. Mistress Drusilla, please,” said I, with a laugh in- 
tended to be conciliatory, “ but I’m determined to be interested in no 
more children, and if you talk further I’m sure you’ll shake my resolu- 
tion. Tell me, instead, about grown people : you seem to know a great 
many who are more interesting than our humdrum city people.” 

“ J list as you say, my dear,” said Mistress Drusilla, after an odd 
interchange of glances between the sisters; “but I think — do have 
another cup of coffee — no ? — I think you might be brought to change 
your mind about children, to your own great comfort, if you were to 
get acquainted with our little pet.” 

“ That is why I don’t want to extend my circle of juvenile ac- 
quaintance,” I replied. “Children are wearing, — even the best of 
them. They’ve worn me out. That is why I’m trying to escape them 
for the present.” 

“ Maybe you’ll wish you’d changed your mind, when one of these 
days you have some of your own climbing all about you, and you find- 
ing yourself lonesome when they’re not doing it.” 

“No danger,” I retorted. “ I’m an old maid, and shall always 
remain one.” 

“ So I said once, my dear,” said the old woman, “ but I changed 
my mind and married, and if ever angels took human shape it was 
while my two little girls were alive. They were too angelic, — that 
was the trouble. The Lord himself couldn’t get along without them, 
so back they went to heaven. Their father followed after ; and I would 
have gone too, if it hadn’t seemed heartless to leave Miss Dorcas all 
alone.” 

Then Mistress Drusilla began to tremble and weep a little in the 
quiet, restrained way which appears to be a peculiarity of country- 
people, and Miss Dorcas with similar restraint of manner tried to con- 
sole her sister, and the occasion seemed a fitting one for my escaj)e, 
though I first expressed sympathy with all the tenderness that was in 
me. Nevertheless, as I sauntered towards the little pine grove in 
which my hammock swung I had to admit to myself that if my Alice 
were the Alice of my hostesses the fact of our chance acquaintanceship 
must soon become known in one way or other, so it would be advisable 
for me to be the first to mention it. 

I found little Alice awaiting me ; at least, as I passed through the 
pines I saw her figure motionless against the sky. She stood on the 
brow of the slope that fell away from the trees, and was looking out to 


686 


AT LAST. 


sea. I approached her softly to see what it might be that was attracting 
her attention, but there was nothing unusual in sight. The beach, nearly 
a mile away, was bare, and the only vessels visible were too far away to 
hold one’s attention. Yet she remained motionless, even when I was 
near enough for her to hear my foot-falls. Finally I stood beside her, 
laid a hand on her shoulder, and asked, — 

“ What are you looking at so earnestly, dear ?” 

“Oh, noffin’,” she replied, looking up as carelessly as if we had 
already met that morning. 

“ I had no idea that noffin’ ’ would be so very interesting.” 

“Didn’t you?” she asked, still looking seaward. “ Well, just you 
try it ; look ’way off dat way a long time, wivout stoppin’, an’ you’ll 
fink dat you can’t stop if you want to. Now begin. I’ll help you.” 

Is anything more uninteresting than a flat limitless expanse of water, 
yrith nothing to break the distance ? I thought not, as I began, half in 
fun, a far-away stare, according to request. Soon, however, the view be- 
came interesting, then fascinating, then absorbing. A few minutes later, 
although I became conscious that little Alice had changed her position 
and was standing in front of me and looking up into my face, it required 
severe effort to withdraw my gaze. When finally I succeeded, the child 
clapped her hands, and her eyes danced, and her cheeks glow^, and her 
lips parted as roguishly as if she never had been absorbed in anything 
in her life, and she shouted, — 

“ I told you so ! Didn’t I tell you so ? Say I do you know you 
looked ever so much like a picture my fahver’s got, — a lovely picture 

of a lady, named dear me ! what is dat lady’s name ? I can always 

fink of it when I don’t need to. Let me see ; it’s — it’s — Meddy, — 
Meddy Oh, pshaw !” 

I tried to recall some feminine names beginning with “ Meddy,” 
but failed : Medusa was the only one that seemed to bear a resemblance 
in sound, and I declined positively to admit for an instant that I could 
I’esemble that fateful creature. Could it be that the breeze-shaken crimps 
of my hair — which I am proud to say were dark, heavy, and abundant 
— resembled serpents ? But could any child imagine a picture of Medusa 
“lovely”? 

“ I’m afraid I can’t help you recall the name,” said I. “ There are 
so few names beginning with M-e-d.” 

“ Meddy — Meddy — Meddy,” the child continued to whisper ; then 
suddenly she exclaimed aloud, — 

“ Oh ! — Meddy Tation I — dat’s de name of de lady in de picture. 
An’ you looked just like her.” 

“ That’s a very pretty compliment, dear, but ‘ Meditation’ isn’t a 
name.” 

“ ’Tis, too,” said the child, with a valiant, defiant air, as if she felt 
called upon to fight for something; “it’s the name of my fahver’s 
picture.” 

“ Ah, yes ; I understand ; but it isn’t a person’s name ; it means the 
state of mind of the lady in the picture. Meditation means the act of 
thinking long about something, — perhaps something about which one is 
not entirely sure.” 


AT LAST. 


687 


Well, well drawled little Alice ; dat^s news to me. It ’splains 
somefin’, dough, ^cause once I asked fahver whever de lady in de picture 
wasn’t finkim very hard about somefin’, an’ he said ‘ yes,’ an’ I asked 
him what it was, an’ he smoked a lot of smoke out of his cigar first, an’ 
looked at de picture a long time, an’ den he said, ‘ I ’spect she’s finkin’ 
whever she ought to say yes” or no.” ’ ” 

Just like a man ! All men are alike. Frank Wayne was just that 
way ; if he weren’t I might have been a happy woman and wife. And 
here was another man who evidently regarded womanly deliberation in 
thought with the same impatience and contempt. Is it inexorable fate 
that man must ever be too dull of comprehension to understand woman ? 
And must the wretch forever imagine that when woman meditates he is 
her whole object of thought ? 

‘‘ You don’t look much like Meddy Tation now,” remarked little 
Alice suddenly, while I was still full of indignant musings. “ You look 
more like Miss Judiff in de big picture Bible. She’s holdin’ up a man’s 
head dat she cutted off, an’ lookin’ like as if she’d like to cut it off 
again.” 

“ Thank you,” said I, hastening to bring my features under control. 
“ What were we talking about ? Oh ! — what did you see, Alice, while 
you looked so long at the ocean ?” 

Oh, noffin’ but water ; noffin’ else at all ; but it didn’t ever stay 
de same shape and color. Soon as I found somefin’ I wanted to keep 
lookin’ at, it went and looked some uvver way, an’ when I wanted 
some of it to stay de uvver way it went and done somefin’ else. Wiiat 
did yon see, when you was lookin’ like my fahver’s picture?” 

About the same that you did, dear, though I don’t believe I could 
explain it so well.” 

My fahver comes out to look at de water sometimes wiff me, when 
he’s home,” said the child, and he sees it just de way I do. He says 
dat’s what makes it so interestin’, — cause it’s always doin’ somefin’ new. 
He says it’s just de same way wiff folks : de ones dat’s most changeable 
gets de most ’tention, even if dey’s as weak as water.” 

Quite true,” I murmured. Alice’s father knew something, it was 
quite evident, although his knowledge lacked comprehension of woman. 
I was willing even to admit that he might have acquired his simile of 
waves and human inconstancy by observation of women, — some women. 
Had not the butterfly girls of my acquaintance always been surrounded 
by hosts of admirers, while women of great heart and soul were at- 
tractive only to one another and an occasional widower of discern- 
ment^ — and extreme age ? 

Let us leave the waves to themselves, dear,” said I, and think 
of something else. What were we going to do to-day?” 

“ Why, you was goin’ to teach me somefin’, — a little somefin’, — but 
not ’bout dolls: you ’member dat part of it? An’ I’ll tell you de 
first fing you can teach me, if you want to, ’cause I want to know. 
You can teach me what your name is ; else what’s I to call you, ’xcept 
‘ say’ ? You don’t like to be called ‘ Say,’ do you ?” 

I have heard prettier names,” I replied. As for me, — have 
it ! — ^you may call me ^ teacher.’ You say you don’t like teachers : now, 


688 


AT LAST. 


I want to be so good and pleasant to you that you’ll think more pleas- 
antly of all teachers hereafter. Just call me ‘ teacher I’ll give you 
the rest of my name afterwards.” 

“ Well, if you’s goin’ to make me like ’em, you’s got to be awful 
nice, — just awful nice, — and you’s got to teach me noffiii’ ’bout dolls, — 
not one fing ; ’member dat.” 

I shall remember it, dear. Now listen to me. Far away from 
here, in New York, where I live, there are thousands upon thousands 
of little girls about as old as you who don’t know anything good unless 
they learn it at school. Their parents are very poor, and while the 
children are at school the father is at work somewhere, and the mother 
somewhere else, for money enough to keep the roof over their heads and 
get food for their children to eat.” 

Don’t de children have any gran’mas to do anyfin’ for ’em ?” 

“H’m, — not often, if I remember rightly; and when the fathers 
and mothers reach home again about supper-time, they are so tired that 
they haven’t much time or sense to teach their children anything.” 

Dey can teach ’em cat’s-cradle, an’ rabbit- on-de- wall, an’ who’s 
got de button, can’t dey ?” 

‘‘ I suppose so ; but ” 

“ Den what makes you say dey can’t teach ’em noffin’ ? I fink dat’s 
a good deal.” 

‘‘ True, but it isn’t enough. They need to know how to get along 
in the world should their parents be taken away ; for sometimes one of 
these children loses a father or mother.” 

^^Just like me,” said the child, as cheerfully as if the loss of a 
mother were one of the every-day occurrences which one must bear 
philosophically. I lost my muvver, you know.” 

To be sure ; but you had a good father left, I trust, and you have 
a grandmother to look after you. But some of these little ones’ fathers 
are not good ; they are rude, stupid, ignorant fellows, who think more 
of themselves than they do of their children, and ” 

Really?” 

Really.” 

Well, I don’t understan’ dat, at all,” said the child, going quickly 
into a brown study, — a very brown study, — out of which she presently 
emerged to remark, I s’pose dat’s what my fahver means when he 
says folks in New York ain’t like folks anywhere else, ’cause dey don’t 
seem to have any hearts. Don’t you fink dat’s what he means ?” 

Quite likely. Some of the fathers and mothers of children in 
New York are so bad that they get drunk, and spend money for liquor 
that might buy comforts for their children, and ” 

I know ’bout dat kind,” the child interrupted. ‘‘ Dere’s one of 
’em lives next house but one to us. He’s awful rich, an’ got a great 
big house wiff a lovely garden, an’ his wife’s a real sweet lady, but his 
children don’t ever seem glad when dey see deir fahver cornin’ home, 
’cause he looks an’ acts as if he didn’t know ’em. One of his little 
girls tole me one day she wished de Lord had give her my fahver instead 
of hers. I tole her I didn’t, ’cause den de Lord might have give me 
her fahver instead of mine, an’ dat would be awful. Den she cried.” 


AT LAST. 


689 


“ Wasn’t that dreadful ? Well, these little children of whom I am 
telling you haven’t rich fathers and handsome houses and pretty gardens. 
Their entire family have only two or three rooms to live in, and often 
the parents lock the doors when they leave home, so their few things 
can’t be stolen : so when the children return from school they have only 
the street and gutter to play in.” 

Dat^s lovely, anyhow.” 

Oh, Alice !” 

Yes, ’tis. I just love to go ’long de street an’ pick daisies an’ 
dandelions, an’ see if dere ain’t some wild strawberries, or if de green 
blackberries ain’t beginnin’ to turn red or black, an’ if dere ain’t a 
turtle behind a big stone somewhere, or a nest of little birdies dat ain’t 
got all deir fevvers yet. Just tell you what, dem children don’t have bad 
times like you fink dey do. An’ if dey don’t have no gran’mas, why, 
den who’s to call ’em in de house to take naps, I’d like to know? I 
fink gran’mas is awful nice, but I don’t like naps one single bit.” 

But, Alice, dear, streets in the city aren’t like roads in the country. 
There are no daisies or dandelions or birds’ nests ; there are only walls 
and stone pavements, stone sidewalks, dirt, mud, and people. There 
are no pleasant places in which to play, nor anything to play with.” 

Why, you just said dere was mud.” 

“But mud isn’t nice to play with.” 

“ Oh, yes, it is. I didn’t mean to conterdic’, ’cause gran’ma says 
it isn’t polite, but it is nice to play wiff mud, — really an’ truly.” 

The horrid child ! How easy it is to be deceived by appearances ! 
There was nothing about Alice Hope’s manner that would have led 
any one to imagine her in sympathy with any city people in any way. 
Nevertheless, it would not do to again make her suspicious of me, so I 
hastily said, — 

“ Mud such as you see — mere wet clay — isn’t at all like the dreadful 
stuff in city gutters, where the wretched children of the very poor wade 
to and fro and sail make-believe boats made of ” 

“Wade? Sail boats?” exclaimed the child, with a sigh. “Oh, 
just don’t I wish I was one of dose dreadful poor children ! • See dat 
big ocean out dere ? See what lots and lots of water dere is ? Well, 
you can’t go wadin’ in it at all, ’xcept once in a very long time, when 
de wind an’ tide is what my fahver calls ‘just so.’ Sure’s you try it 
any uvver time a great big wave comes up and knocks you down an’ 
splashes you all over. An’ boats? Why, if you try to sail one it just 
gets rolled over an’ over an’ comes right back to where it started from. 
Dear, dear ! donH I just wish I was one of dose poor children !” 

“ Well, dear, you wouldn’t if you could see them. As I was say- 
ing, their parents teach them almost nothing; but there are hundreds 
of big schools, where the poor little things are taught a great deal, and 
learn to become wiser and better than their parents.” 

“ Den,” remarked Miss Alice, with much positiveness, “ I’m glad 
I’m not one of ’em. I don’t want to be any smarter an’ better dan my 
fahver and gran’ma. It makes my head just ache sometimes to fink 
how smart an’ good dey is, an’ I’s sure my head would split right open 
if I had a muvver too dat was just as smart an’ good, an’ I had to fink 


690 


AT LAST. 


’bout her too. Of course my muvver is, ’cause ev’rybody up in heaven 
is everyfin’ dey ought to be; but you don’t have to fink dat way ’bout 
’em, ’cause you don’t see ’em an’ hear ’em so much.” 

So much ? You don’t see them and hear them at all, dear.” 

Humph I” said the child, contemptuously. I guess your muvver 
ain’t dead, is she ?” 

^‘No, dear.” 

Might know it ; else you wouldn’t talk dat way. Why, I can see 
my muvver whenever I fink ’bout her a little while ; I can hear her 
talk, too. She looks just like she always did, an’ talks just de same 
way she did when I was a baby. Just holds me ever so tight to her, 
an’ looks at me ever so long, wiff de cunnin’est kind of a little laugh 
in her face, an’ says, ‘ Muvver’s little darlin’ I Muvver’s little darlin’ I’ 
an’ it’s just lovely.” 

So I should imagine, dear,” said I, gently, putting my arm around 
the child ; “ but you know you don’t really see and hear her : you only 
imagine it.” 

Don’t you say dat again I” exclaimed the child, twitching away 
from my embrace and climbing from the hammock to the ground, where 
she stood and looked at me defiantly. Guess I know more ’bout my 
muvver dan you does.” 

Certainly you do, dear,” said I, quickly. 

You never saw her, an’ I did. I know all ’bout her.” 

I should think you would, and I am ever so glad that you do. It 
ought to make you very happy, too ; but I merely want to teach you 
to understand it rightly, so that you won’t ever be disappointed.” 

I supposed this would appease her and restore confidence ; but it 
didn’t. She continued to stand aloof and look at me angrily, as if I 
had done her serious injury. Finally she said, — 

Just what I was ’fraid ’bout. You’s gone an’ wanted to teach me 
somefin’ I didn’t want to know, an’ made me unhappy. Is dat de kind 
of fings you teach de children in your school ?” 

No, dear ; I teach them about the world, and the stars, and the 
ocean, and about the people who live in other countries ” 

In de moon, an’ all dem places ?” 

No, dear ; there are no people in the moon, that we know of.” 

But we can make b’lieve, can’t we ? ’Cause it’s so much nicer to 
fink when you look up at a big round moon, — not one of dem little 
ones dat look like a piece of watermelon wiff all de red part cut out, — it’s 
so much nicer when you look up at de moon to fink dat dere’s people in 
it lookin’ down an’ seein’ de world goin’ sailin’ along in de sky, just 
like anuvver moon. You know de moon’s noffin’ but a star, — don’t 
you? — only it’s nearer, so it looks bigger, an’ de world’s noffin’ but 
anuvver star, — don’t you ?” 

‘‘Yes,” said I ; “ but when and where did you study astronomy?” 

“ Gracious ! what a big word !” exclaimed the child. “ I didn’t 
ever study anyfin’ as big as dat, I’m sure.” 

“ Astronomy is the study of the stars,” said I. “ Where did you ” 

“Oh, is dat all it means? Oh, yes, ’stron’my. Well, I’s been 
learnin’ ’bout ’em ever since I was a dear, tiny little fing, not much 


AT LAST 


691 


bigger clan one of my dolls, I guess. My fahver told me ’bout ’em, ’an 
gran’ma tole me some more. Say ! do you know where de big dipper 
is ?” 

“ No, dear. Are you thirsty ?” 

The child broke into a merry peal of laughter, and looked quizzi- 
cally at me. Of course not,” she replied, and then, after another 
laugh, said, If I was firsty, I wouldn’t try to drink out of dat It’s too 
big, an’ it’s millions an’ millions of miles away from here. Besides, 
most of de time it’s turned up endways, or upside down, or somefin’, so 
it would spill all the water out anyway. I mean de big dipper up in 
de sky, — de seven big stars dat’s on de backwards end of de big bear 
dat’s goin’ roun’ an’ roun’ de norf star all de time, like as if it wanted 
to bite it an’ was ’fraid to.” 

Slowly I realized that the child was alluding to the constellation of 
the Great Bear, and that I had heard sometime, somewhere, that a portion 
of it was vulgarly called the Dipper.” I had seldom seen any stars 
but those which were directly overhead ; houses in our portion of the 
city were too high to permit an extended view of the sky, and the air, 
at the level of the sidewalk, was at night so full of artificial light as to 
make any view of the heavenly bodies unsatisfactory. 

‘^Now I understand you,” I said. ‘‘Do you know any of the 
other stars ?” 

“ Lots of ’em, — lots and piles. I know J upiter, an’ Mars, an’ 
Venus, an’ Satin ” 

“ Saturn, dear,” said I, pronouncing the name of the ringed planet 
with distinctness. 

“ Say !” exclaimed the child, as if she were about to impart some- 
thing in extreme confidence, “ if you teach me to say it dat way my 
fahver won’t let you play wiff me any more. One of our visitors once 
tried to teach me to say Satur-rn, as you call it, an’ my fahver said if 
he didn’t stop he wouldn’t give him noffin’ but bad cigars to smoke for 
a week.” 

“ Very well,” said I, with a sigh. “ I’ll try to avoid such dreadful 
punishment. Do you know any other stars ?” 

“ Goodness, yes. Dere’s de man wiff a sword, — dat man wiff de 
Irish name, dat I always keep forgettin’, — O’ somefin’.” 

“ Orion ?” 

“ Dat’s it ! Den dere’s de Greek woman’s chair ” 

“ The chair of Andromeda ?” 

“ Yes. Why, you do know somefin’ ’bout de stars, don’t you ? 
But I don’t see why you didn’t know ’bout de big dipper, when it’s de 
biggest bunch of stars in de sky. Let’s see ; den dere’s de seven stars, 
an’ de five stars.” 

“ What are they ?” 

“Why, stars, of course, — seven of ’em in one place, an’ five in 
anuvver. Don’t you know ’em ?” 

“ I fear I don’t.” 

“ Dat’s too bad ! ’cause dey’s awful cunnin’ little bunches. Tell 
you what ; you come over to our house to-night, an’ I’ll show ’em to 


692 


AT LAST. 


I don’t like to be out in the night air, dear,” said I ; fondness 
for this child was not going to draw me into country manners, the ac- 
cepting of formal invitations, and the acquiring of a lot of country 
acquaintances. 

‘‘ Night air in de country is better dan day air in de city, — dat’s 
what my fahver says. But I guess I can show you how dey look.” 
The child went out from the shade of the pines, stooped to the ground 
a moment or two, and returned with both her chubby hands full of 
small stones. Then she stooped again and carefully arranged the stones 
on the ground, five in the form of a V lying on its side, and seven in 
about the lines of a hand-basin. Then she arose, contemplated her 
work, and explained, — 

Dere’s de five stars, an’ dere’s de seven stars, just de way dey look 
in de sky.” 

Ah, I see ; the Hyades and the Pleiades.” 

De wha-a-at ?” 

The Hyades and the Pleiades ; those are the names of the con- 
stellations you have pictured, and very correctly too. If you call them 
by their right names, no one who has studied astronomy can ever mis- 
understand you when you speak of them.” 

The child looked thoughtful, so I hoped the spirit of my injunction 
was taking effect. But it wasn’t ; for presently she remarked, — 

Well, I know a little ’bout Pleiades, but if I was to talk ’bout 
dose stars, an’ give ’em such awful Dutchy names, nobody dat I know 
would know what I was talkin’ ’bout.” 

Why do you think the names Dutchy, dear ?” 

’Cause dey don’t remind you of anyfin’ you know ; dat’s de way 
Dutchman’s talk is ; dere’s lots of Dutchmen ’bout here. But anybody’s 
smart enough to know what seven stars and five stars means.” 

I hastily abandoned an intention to explain to the child the value 
of the Greek language as an international basis of scientific nomencla- 
ture, for I feared my command of English would not be sufficient. I 
merely told her that stars and many other natural objects had names in 
Greek or Latin, because the meanings of words in these languages were 
known among educated people of all countries. 

Oh, yes, I know ’bout dat,” the child replied. ’Cause I learned 
a lot of ’em last winter. Dere was a big girl — one of de neighbors’ 
children — dat wanted to teach school roun’ here, an’ gran’ma let me 
go a little while. What words do you fink she taught me ? — all ’bout 
fings dat was in me ? Why, * trachea,’ an’ ' sophagus,’ an’ ‘ biceps,’ an’ 
^ triceps,’ an’ ^ phalanges,’ an’ ‘ medulla oblongata,’ an’ ' ab-do-men !’ I 
asked my fahver if it wasn’t dreadful for a little girl to have all dem 
fings inside of her, an’ he made a face as if he was takin’ medicine, an’ 
said he’d rawer I’d have de measles. I didn’t go to dat school no 
more. So you’d better be careful ’bout teachin’ me big words, if you 
want to go on teachin’ me anyfin’.” 

I resolved to take this hint to heart ; at the same time I began to 
wonder whether there was anything that I really could teach this child, 
who had taken possession of my pity because of her ignorance, yet who 
seemed to know more than any child in my classes or in my circle of 


AT LAST, 093 

acquaintances. Still, was it any more sensible that she should have 
been taught astronomy instead of physiology ? 

“ How did you come to learn so much about the stars, dear I 
asked. Most girls are two or three times as old as you before they 
are taught anything about astronomy.” 

“ Can’t help learniii’ ’bout ’em,” she replied. Dey’re always 
where dey’re lookin’ right at me, after dark ; dey keeps winkin’ at me 
froo my window almost every night till I go to sleep ; an’, besides, we 
don’t see noffin’ else from our piazza, dese warm nights, ’xcept de stars 
an’ de ocean, so I can’t help finkin’ ’bout ’em an’ askin’ questions 
’bout ’em. My fahver says if a person don’t want to grow up wivout 
knowin’ noffin’ dey’d better ask questions ’bout what dey see oftenest 
an’ fink ’bout most. So when I sits on de piazza nights, in papa’s 
lap, — when he’s home, — I ask him lots of fings ’bout de stars, an’ he 
tells me ’em, an’ when he ain’t home gran’ina tells me ’em. She’s got 
a great big map of de sky, wiff de names of all de stars, — bunches an’ 
big stars. Sometimes, rainy days I plays stars on de floor. I’s got 
lots of little white stones for stars, but de Milky Way bovvered me 
awful, ’cause its stars are so little an’ close togevver, you know : so one 
day I got some flour out of de kitchen, an’ den I got it all right. It 
looked just like de sky, ’cause de rug was blue. Gran’ma got real 
cross ’bout it when she came to clean de room, ’cause de flour wouldn’t 
come out of de rug, but when she tole my fahver he only laughed ; 
den he got a piece of chalk an’ let me make de big stars wiff dat instead 
of stones, an’ den — what do you fink ? Why, he bought a new rug, 
an’ hung de old one, wiff all de stars on it, on de wall of his room, an’ 
he shows it to all his friends dat comes to see him.” 

I turned my face so as to laugh unseen. This child’s father was 
evidently a ridiculous fellow, in spite of the occasional shrewd remarks 
which his daughter had repeated, but the incident of the rug certainly 
was funny. I found myself sympathizing with the grandmother, too, 
horrid old woman though I believed her, for what woman can contem- 
plate unmoved the ruin of a rug ? Nevertheless, had the rug been my 
own, and a child — this particular child — had laboriously mapped the 
heavens upon it, with so faithful a sense of proportion regarding the 
Milky Way, I was not certain that I would not have decorated my own 
wall with it. 

But, after all, what was the incident but another illustration of 
imagination running riot? Of what possible use was her knowledge 
of the stars? Parallax, ascension, declination, occultation, all the laws 
that governed the movements of the heavenly bodies, that raised mere 
star-gazing to the rank of a science, had undoubtedly been neglected 
by the father in his pretended teaching ; the mere words probably made 
their meanings distasteful to the literal-minded fellow. I could at least 
put a thought or two into the bright little head, as seed into good 
ground, to help the child towards more lasting comprehension of the 
system and law that governed the movements of the heavenly bodies : 
so I said, — 

‘‘ Well, dear, have you learned or thought anything about the stars 
except what you have told me ? The stars are very pretty to look at 


694 


AT LAST. 


and to give you a new way of amusing yourself ; but they weren’t put 
there for that purpose alone. They must be of some use, in some way 
besides merely amusing people : don’t you think so ?” 

Yes, indeed I do,” she replied, with great earnestness. My 
fahver tole me all ’bout it one time, an’ I haven’t ever forgot it, 
eiver.” 

So the father didn’t make a mere plaything of his child, after all ! 
I was glad of it. I was becoming painfully solicitous about the future 
welfare of this child. I had so long carried in my heart a sense of 
responsibility for the wretched children in my school — sheep with no 
shepherd but me — that I could not feel otherwise regarding any child 
with whom I came in contact. But how had her father brought practi- 
cal astronomy within the comprehension of so small a head ? I asked 
her to tell me all about it, as her father had explained it to her. 

‘‘Well,” said she, “once dere lived ’w^ay ’cross de ocean a farmer 
named Job, an’ he was de richest farmer in all de country round. It 
never troubled him if de butcher’s wagon didn’t come round in time, 
’cause he had just fousands of sheep, an’ would go out an’ kill one in 
time to have meat for dinner; an’ gran’ma says when folks was offered 
spring lamb at his house dey got spring lamb. He had five hundred 
pairs of oxen, — jus’ fink of it ! enough to plough all de farms as far as 
you can look from our biggest hill, gran’ma says. He had such lots 
of camels dat if dey was all in a menagerie no little girl would have 
to be lifted up to see one ; dere were such lots of ’em dat each little girl 
could have a whole one for herself to look at, all by herself, an’ nobody 
to stand in front of her. An’ donkeys — why, if a whole Sunday- 
school picnic had gone to his farm each boy and girl could have had a 
donkey to ride all day, instead of takin’ turns of just a minute or two, 
like dey had to at our last picnic. 

“ But he deserved such lots of fings, ’cause he was a real good man. 
Why, when his children done anyfin’ wrong he tried to be punished 
for it himself, ’stead of makin’ dem have bad times ; dough I ’spec’ it 
hurt ’em just as bad, and maybe a little worse. 

“ Well, one day de Ole Bad Man come along, an’ tole de Lord 
he didn’t fink ’twas hard for Job to be good, ’cause he didn’t have 
no trouble to make him want to be bad. An’ de Lord tole de Ole 
Bad Man to give Job some trouble, an’ he’d see dat it didn’t make 
no difference. So one day de Old Bad Man sent some fighters to kill 
Job’s farm-hands, an’ some fieves to steal de oxen an’ donkeys, an’ 
some lightnin’ to kill de sheep, an’ some more fieves to steal de camels, 
an’ den he sent a big storm dat knocked down a house where all Job’s 
children was eatin’ dinner, an’ it killed all de boys ; didn’t kill de little 
girls, dough : my fahver says dat would have been too much. 

“Well, Job was real good ’bout it; he said de Lord gave him 
everyfin’ he had, an’ if He wanted to take it all away again, why, who 
could prevent Him ? So de Ole Bad Man felt pretty sheepish ; an’ he 
said dat if he could only hurt Job himself, den fings would be diff’rent. 
Den de Lord said, ‘ Well, go hurt him, just so you don’t kill him ; den 
you’ll see you don’t know as much as you fink you do.’ So de Ole Bad 
Man give Job boils — did you ever have boils?” 


AT LAST. 


695 


No,” said I, with some asperity. 

Neiver did I : but gran’ma says dey’s dreadful sores dat itches 
like de heat-rash — didn’t you ever have heat-rash ?” 

I Go on, dear.” 

Well, dey hurt him so — just like a whole lot of big skeeter-bites, 
all at a time — dat he couldn’t scratch himself fast enough wilf his hands, 
so he done it wiff a piece of broken dish. But he didn’t get bad, dough 
his own wife told him to call de Lord bad names an’ die. Gran’ma 
says she guesses de ole lady got tired of havin’ a husband roun’ dat 
was sick an’ poor too. Job behaved himself real well till free friends 
of his came a-visitin’ ; dey talked to him for a whole lot of days to- 
gevver, an’ tole him what he ought to do, an’ oughtn’t to do, an’ what 
dey would do if dey was him. Den he lost his patience, an’ began to 
say lots of cross fings, an’ talk as if de Lord didn’t have anyfin’ to do 
but look after him, an’ how if he’d made de world he’d have had fings 
diif’rent in a good many ways. My fahver says a man never knows 
ev’ryfin’ so much as when fings ain’t goin’ to suit him.” 

All this is very interesting, dear, though I think I’ve heard some- 
thing of the kind before. But what has it to do with the stars ? I don’t 
want to lose the story ; but try and remember that you were going to tell 
me how you had learned all about the stars.” 

1 haven’t forgot : I’ll reach dem stars pretty soon. Well, one day 
while Job was a-grumblin’ away, de Lord came along in a whirlwind : 
my fahver says de Lord really was wifF Job all de time, but when folks 
gets into trouble dey fink dere’s nobody near ’em but de Ole Bad Man, 
so it takes a storm, or a club, or somefin’ awful big and strong, to bring 
’em to deir senses. Den de Lord give Job a good talkin’-to. He just 
let him know dat Job nor no uvver man knew just how everyfin’ in de 
world ought to be, an’ no man could be as smart as de Lord. He tole 
him just lots of fings where Job wasn’t as smart and strong as de Lord, 
an’ one of de fings he said was, ^ Canst dou bind de sweet’ — say ! what’s 
dat name you calls de seven stars ?” 

Pleiades ?” 

Oh, yes ; my fahver gave me a new doll if I’d learn dat verse to 
’member it always, but I always forgets dat word. ^ Canst dou bind de 
sweet influences of de Pleiades, or loose de bands of Orion?’ Just fink 
how little dat must have made Job feel, an’ how strong it made him fink 
de Lord ! He couldn’t help finkin’ ’bout it, you know, ’cause stars was 
all Job had ever had to look at in de night-time. My fahver says what 
de Lord told Job in dat verse was de first lesson in de world in practi- 
cal ’stron’my, — ’stron’my is all ’bout de stars, you know, — an’ he says 
I must ’member it all my life, so if ever I get to havin’ bad times an’ 
fink de Lord isn’t strong enough to make fings right, I can just go out 
an’ look at de stars awhile, an’ get my mind right again.” 

A thunder-storm put an end to our interview, soon after little 
Alice ended her story, and I was not entirely sorry, for I became so 
absorbed in my own thoughts that I could not be good company for 
my little visitor. When at night the clouds disappeared, I sat in my 
window for hours, looking into the sky, and looking backward into my 
own life. For my one great sorrow I was conscious I had blamed 

VoL. XLII.— 46 


696 


IN THE WINDOW-SEAT. 


heaven quite as much as Frank Wayne; but could I ^^bind the sweet 
influences of the Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion’^ ? 

How glad I was, when I retired, that no one could see my face as I 
suddenly realized how I had with much condescension begun the day in 
an attempt to teach the child, and how the teacher herself had been 
taught ! 

John Hahberton. 


IN THE WINDOW-SEAT. 

O NE evening in an aqtumn old 

We in the cushioned window-seat 
Sat side by side in converse sweet. 

As that old tale our young lips told. 

We watched the shadows sway and greet 
Upon the walls. The burning logs 
Lay crackling on the great brass dogs. 

Far back within the window-seat. 

Half hidden by the curtain’s fold. 

You sat and swung your dainty feet. 

Our brown eyes tenderly did meet 
As low we talked, the story told. 

That evening in an autumn old. 

Things did not chance as they were told 
Within the cushioned window-seat 
That autumn-time. Our story sweet 
Is like some vague romance of old. 

Here in the after-years we meet. 

When shadows oft from burning logs 
Have lain athwart the great brass dogs. 

And clung about the window-seat. 

Half hidden by the curtain’s fold. 

The paths we trod have led our feet 
Apart till now ; and years full fleet 
Have drifted by. Since we are old 
We smile at that old tale we told. 

But hist ! Within the window-seat. 

Half hidden by the curtain’s fold. 

Your daughter swings her dainty feet ; 

And, madam, hear my boy repeat. 

With eager lips, a story told 
One evening in an autumn old. 

Charles Washington Coleman., Jr. 


EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 697 


EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 

[Mr. John R. Thompson in 1864 went to London to take an editorial posi- 
tion on The Index, a journal supported by the Confederate government with the 
intention of influencing England and France to further its cause. Mr. Thompson 
remained abroad two years. He then returned to this country and obtained a 
situation on the Evening Post as assistant editor. His health failed rapidly. On 
the day of his death he sent for R. H. Stoddard, whom he made his executor, 
with full liberty to act according to his judgment in regard to the disposition of 
his effects. 

The diary shows that no American at that period had so great a social 
opportunity as Mr. Thompson ; and I think that his intention was to fill out 
these entries and make a complete account of his life abroad. — E. S.] 

Jan. 25, 1864. — The exigencies of the war rendering it impossible 
for me to procure a Diary in Richmond, I have taken this old one of 
^59. The only change necessary where the entries will begin is that of 
the year at the top of the page. 

Jan. 28. — Some expenses of the past year, to show the cost of 
things : 

Paid for a breakfast to three people, $33. One pound of butter, 
$12. A shad, $10, etc. 

Gave my sister for wounded soldiers $50. 

Paregoric, $4. Bottle of brandy, $50. 

Sent a note to Constance Cary, proceeds of a poem on the obsequies 
of Stuart, which note was never received. Quart of milk, $4. 

Feb. 29. — Wrote my weekly letter to the London Index. Rumors 
of an advance of Meade’s army, and a cavalry raid of the enemy on 
the Virginia Central Railroad. 

March 1. — Raining, and very dark. Great excitement in town 
produced by the cavalry raid, which was pushed within three miles of 
Richmond. The vandals shelled the house of Hon. James Lyon on 
the Brooke turnpike, and committed wanton outrages wherever they 
went. Skirmishes between raiders and local troops; some prisoners- 
brought in. 

March 2. — The house-roofs covered with snow. Three hundred 
horses and eighty prisoners brought in by General Wade Hampton. 

March 3. — All local troops under arms. Alarm-bells rang from 
two till five. All furloughed officers and privates of the Confederate 
army called to serve in defence of the city. 

March 4. — Deepest indignation over the orders captured on Colonel 
Dahlgren, revealing the diabolical purpose of the Yankees in their late 
raid to sack and burn the city and put to death the President and 
Cabinet. 

March 6. — At St. Paul’s the prayer of Thanksgiving after Victory 
was offered for our deep obligation to God Almighty and our deliver- 
ance from danger. 

March 7. — Wrote a full account of late events for the London 
Index. 


698 EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 


March 12. — Apricot-trees in blossom. Shad in market, $10 a pair. 

March 13. — Large number of leading Confederate officers in church 
to-day, — Generals E. E. Lee, Longstreet, Bragg, Hood, Whiting, and 
others. 

March 14. — Prayers at St. Paul’s. Spent the evening playing 
backgammon with my father. President’s proclamation on Fast-Day. 
Consultation of generals held here on the conduct of the campaign for 
the future. 

March 15. — Under the new agreement for exchange of prisoners, 
six hundred and sixty-five officers and prisoners arrived. President 
Davis and Governor Smith made speeches. Hot coffee and provisions 
were served them. 

March 17. — Ice in the gutter. Anniversary of my mother’s death. 
May I take to heart the lesson of her blameless life, her sweet Christian 
graces ! 

March 20. — Immense concourse in Capitol Square to meet eleven 
hundred prisoners from Point Lookout. 

March 26. — Prices current for this day’s market. Beef, far from 
good, $5 per pound. Irish potatoes, |40 per bushel. Eggs, per dozen, 
$7. Butter, per pound, $4. 

March 31. — Heard a lecture on the religious character of Stonewall 
Jackson. Large audience. Sent letter to London by a special messen- 
ger. 

April 30. — President Davis’s son fell from the balcony. 

May 1. — Funeral of young Davis. 

May 5. — Yankee gun-boats ascending the river. Second battle of 
the Wilderness. 

May 6. — The great battle continued. Dr. Read’s church kept open 
for prayers. 

May 7. — Continuance of the fight. A thousand rumors flying. 

May 9. — All business suspended. No one allowed to leave town. 

May 11. — Richmond bare of male inhabitants. Terrible storm: 
houses unroofed. 

July 5. — Left Wilmington in steamer Cape Fear, went down the 
river to Fort Fisher, and on board the Edith. ' Out at sea by eight 
o’clock, having safely passed the inner blockading fleet off the bar : 
went very near one of them. Slept on a cotton-bale. At daybreak 
were seen and chased by a Yankee steamer supposed to be the Con- 
necticut. Chase kept up nine hours, when the Yankee changed his 
course. Saw the steamer later, but, night coming on, eluded them. 

July 8. — Ran into the harbor of St. George, Bermuda, and went on 
board the Britisli mail-packet and sailed for Halifax. 

July 12. — Dense fog off the coast. Lay in the trough of the sea, 
firing signal-guns. Pilot came along and took us into harbor. Heard 
of the loss of the Alabama in the fight with the Kearsarge. 

July 22. — Sailed from Halifax in the Asia. Crowded with pas- 
sengers. 

July 30. — Put off passengei’s and mails at Queenstown. 

London^ August 3. — Moved my luggage from Exeter Hill Hotel 
to 17 Savile Row, the old residence of Sheridan, where he died. 


EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 699 

Drove to Hampstead to see the brother of John Mitohel, but he had 
gone to Ireland. 

Aug. 6. — Called on John Stewart Oxley, and rode back in his drag 
to Savile Row ; five horses, and tiger in top-boots. 

Aug. 14, Kingusde, Scotland. — Two services in the church, the last 
in the Gaelic tongue, the tunes sung to the hymns the same as those 
used in America. Received a telegram of a victory over Grant, which 
gives us all the liveliest satisfaction. 

Aug. 20. — Fire of peat kept up all day. Went out shooting: one 
brace of birds, seven grouse, one blackcock. Whist after dinner. 

Dublin, Aug. 31. — Arrived at the seat of the Earl of Donoughmore : 
received a cordial welcome. Meeting of the Tipperary Archer Club : 
Collation, band of music, profuse champagne. Ball in the library- 
room, the county aristocracy present. 

Sept. 3. — Went with Mr. Mason to the Clonmel Club : cricket-match 
with the 10th Hussars. 

Sept. 5. — Played croquet with the children. Took a long walk to 
gather mushrooms. This is the daily routine at Knocklofty : prayer 
at nine, breakfast at ten, lunch at two, dinner at eight, bedtime twelve. 

S^t. 6. — Made a mint-julep for the company, which was much 
enjoy^. Oddest people in Clonmel, — beggars, street-singers, barefoot 
market-women with donkeys, hundreds of ragged children. 

S^t. 7. — Drove to the mansion of Hon. Bernal Osborne, where 
we spent the night. 

S^t. 8. — Took a jaunting-car for Curraghmore, the seat of the 
Marquis of Waterford. At Carrick a trial was going on on witch- 
craft! Saw an old manor-house of Queen Elizabeth which Spenser 
visited. Stopped at Mr. Ridgeway’s to lunch. 

Dublin, Sept. 11. — Drove with Dr. Wheeler on the top of an om- 
nibus to the office of the Irish Times, of which he is editor. There 
we received telegrams announcing the nomination of McClellan at 
Chicago. 

Sept. 26. — Left cards at Sir Edward Bulwer’s, and on Robert 
Lytton, Owen Meredith. 

Oct. 6. — Dined at Lady Georgiana Fane’s. 

7. — Dined at Captain Blakeley’s, inventor of the celebrated 
gun. Charming dinner ; immense block of ice in the centre of the 
table to keep the air cool ; beautiful flowers, and dinner h la Eusse. 

8. — Saw at Palgrave’s a copy of first edition of Idyls of the 
King,” the whole edition of which was suppressed. 

Oct. 11. — Lunched with the Countess of Harrington. Afterwards 
drove to a famous jeweller’s in Regent Street, where we saw diamonds 
of the dowager Countess Cleveland, eight thousand pounds in value. 
They were for sale. Commenced a leader for the Index. 

QqI, 14 —Drank tea and spent the evening with Thomas Carlyle 
at 5 Cheyne Row. Mrs. Carlyle for some time has been an invalid, 
but made her appearance. Lady Ashburton and Miss Baring came in 
after tea. Mr. Carlyle said it was his habit to drink five cups of tea. 
He ran oflP into table-talk about tea and coffee, told us that he had found 
in Lord Russell’s Memoirs of Moore,” which he called a rubbishy 


700 EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 

book, the origin of the word biggin: it comes from one Biggin, a 
tinner, who first made the vessel and was knighted afterwards. Then 
he talked of pipes and tobacco, and recited the old verse, Think of 
this, and smoke tobacco.’^ There was but one honest pipe made in 
Britain, — by a Glasgow man, who used a clay found in Devonshire. 
Mr. Carlyle inquired about the Confederacy, its resources, army, its 
supplies of food and powder. He read a letter from Emerson, in 
which the Yankee philosopher declared that the struggle now going on 
was the battle of humanity. When we rose to say good-night, he 
called a servant for his coat and boots (he had received us in dressing- 
gown and slippers), and walked with us within a stone’s throw of 
Grosvenor Hotel, two miles, at half-past eleven ! On the way passing 
Chelsea Hospital, he burst into a tribute to Wren, the arcliitect, of 
whom he said there was a rare harmony, a sweet veracity, in all his 
work. We mentioned Tennyson, and he spoke Tvith great affection of 
him, but thought him inferior to Burns : he had known Alfred” for 
years; said he used to come in hob-nailed shoes and rough coat, 
to blow a cloud with him. Carlyle said he thought Mill’s book on 
Liberty the greatest nonsense he ever read, and spoke despairingly of 
the future of Great Britain ; too much money would be the ruin of 
the land. 

Oct. 31. — Went with Miss Sally Souter, the Countess of Harring- 
ton, and Lady Geraldine Stanhope, to the St. James Theatre, to see 
Charles Mathews. 

Nov. 4. — Weather far inferior to our glorious fall weather in Vir- 
ginia. 

Nov. 16. — At Carlyle’s, who made many inquiries about Lee, w'hom 
he greatly admires. He talked brilliantly ; spoke disparagingly of 
Napier and other English historians, — said they knew nothing of war 
as an art. 

Nov. 24. — Spent the evening at the house of Mr. Woolner, sculptor, 
with Tennyson, a quiet, simple man, who smoked a pipe and drank 
hot punch with us. He deplored the American war, and talked of 
the Yankees, whom he detested. 

Dec. 9. — Wortley Lodge, Mortlake. — Spent a day and night here. 
Drove back in an open carriage in dense fog. Dined at Lady Georgiana 
Fane’s, where I met Mr. Babbage, the famous inventor of the calcu- 
lating machine. 

Dec. 10. — To Drury Lane to see Helen Faucit as Lady Macbeth. 
Phelps as Macbeth very bad. 

Dec. 11 . — To the chapel of the Foundling Hospital, where I heard 
beautiful choral singing by the foundlings dressed in costume, the boys 
in red waistcoats, the girls in mob caps and white stomachers. Met 
Mr. Haydon, son of the famous artist. 

Dec. 12. — To Whitbread’s famous brewery. The establishment 
covers five acres of ground. 

Dec. 24. — Crossed the Channel. Visited the old H6tel Dessin, 
celebrated by Sterne, — now a museum. 

Dec. 26. — Saw Cora Pearl at the Longchamp races, and others of 
the demi-monde. 


EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 701 

Jan. 1, 1865, Paris . — Took a cab and went to dine at Mr. Corbin’s, 
Bue de Yarennes, Faubourg St. Germain. Streets coated with ice. 
Mr. Corbin lives in magni&ent style. The guests were Mr. Slidell, 
General Randolph, Commodore Barron, and a son of Commodore 
Stewart of the old United States navy. The dark day was in accord- 
ance with the feelings of Confederates in Paris. The new year opens 
in sorrow. May it close in joy ! God grant it ! 

Jan. 4. — Paris is immensely changS in ten years, since I saw it. 
The Emperor makes vast improvements, but the city is losing its 
ancient characteristics. 

Jan. 7. — Heard the sad news of the occupation of Savannah by 
Sherman’s army, and, though wo felt little like amusement, went to 
the theatre, and afterwards took oysters. 

Jan. 27. — Yet, in the absence of news, the Confederate loan ad- 
vances three per cent. Am told we shall soon hear something of im- 
portance. I think it refers to an iron-clad from Europe to attack 
Boston or New York. 

Jan. 30. — Distressing news of the capture of Fort Fisher by the 
Federals, and may now give up all hope of correspondence with our 
friends. 

Feb. 7. — Had an order to the House of Parliament. Earl of 
Charlemont moved the address in a manner pitiable. Lord Houghton 
followed in a speech without grace or energy. Earl Granville spoke in 
a style very like Dundreary. Prince of Wales kept his seat, and his 
hat on. 

Feb. 12. — Heard morning service in Bedford Chapel: heard J. C. 
M. Bellew. The small building was decorated with artificial flowers. 
Bellew is a fashionable preacher, with prematurely gray hair. He dis- 
cussed tremendous themes with grace of manner that left no ideas on 
the mind. 

Feb. 13. — In my walks about London I am painfully impressed 
with the condition of the majority, even in quarters not the worst. 
Streets are dirty, houses mean, the vast masses exhibit squalor, 
laboring classes never seem to wash. Children swarm everywhere. 
Fifty yards from Regent Street there are slums like Five Points in 
New York. 

Feb. 15. — Breakfasted at ten with candles. Intelligence of a ne- 
gotiation on the part of our commissioners with Lincoln and Seward 
for peace broken off. Rejoiced to hear that no reconstruction of the 
Union was listened to as a possible thing by our commissioners. 

. Feb. 19. — Heard an impressive sermon from Maurice, a friend of 
Tennyson. Lunched at Lord Wharncliffe’s. As in all English houses 
of wealth, the lunch was a sumptuous affair. Colonel Darner showed 
me drawings of the battles in the Crimea. Englishmen think our 
fighting in America is nothing in comparison with the siege of Sebas- 
topol. 

Feb. 23. — Paid a shilling for a stand on the top of an ale-house 
to see the funeral procession of Cardinal Wiseman. The most de- 
graded concourse of people I ever saw. Women bearing the marks 
of their husbands’ brutality, boys and girls old in suffering and vice, 


702 EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 

ragged, debauched creatures. Queen Amelia and some foreign min- 
isters followed the hearse. 

Feb, 25. — Drove to the seat of Mowbray Morris, editor-in-chief of 
the London Times. A charming English house. My room very lux- 
urious. Ouisine excellent, wines delicious. Could not help thinking 
of my father and sister at home as I ate and drank. Music and tea 
in the drawing-room, afterwards billiards, cigars, brandy, and seltzer. 
In the morning visited stables, dairy, farm-yard, greenhouses, and 
conservatories. Mr. Morris was little disposed to discuss the war, 
except from a military point of view. 

March 7. — At the Keform Club. Saw across the room George 
Augustus Sala, a very vulgar and dissipated-looking man. 

March 10. — News of the capture of Wilmington. All seems dark 
for our poor country. How different with me, in luxury, from the 
privations of our noble people ! This is Fast Day appoint^ by Presi- 
dent Davis. Although written above that I lunched and dined, I 
fasted. I took no breakfast, and only a meagre bowl of soup and bit 
of fish at the other meals, and I have prayed Almighty God for our 
cause. 

March 14. — Holtze gave me the intelligence that the Confederate 
funds in Europe were in a state of bankruptcy, and that the Index 
would probably be discontinued in two or three months. This greatly 
disconcerted me, as I am at a loss to know how to live when my salary 
is cut off. 

March 17. — ^Visited the Times office. The paper of this morning 
if spread in a line would be eighty-four miles long. Its paper is made 
in its own mills. The employees are four hundred in number ; they 
have good dining-rooms, hot and cold baths, and a good library of 
reference; also telegraphic instruments to the House of Parliament 
and to Reuter’s office. 

March 18. — Found an Englishman with Northern sympathies', a 
rare thing, who was an infinite radical, as Governor Wise terms it. 

March 22. — Nothing but the favor of the Almighty God can rescue 
the Confederacy. Early defeated by Sheridan. 

March 25. — Went to see Lady Donoughmore attired for a drawing- 
room at St. James’s. The court being in mourning, only white was 
worn. Her dress was white illusion looped with pearls, white satin skirt 
and train, tiara of diamonds, superb necklace and bracelets of diamonds. 
The lower class” gathered about the door to see the blazing liveries. 
Met Dr. Rae, the Arctic explorer, at Mr. Lewis’s on Camden Hill : 
free-and-easy, incessant smoking, abundant ale and oysters. Woolner, 
Millais, Lord Houghton, Holman Hunt, Duke of Sutherland, and 
others, present. Tyrone Power’s son sang capitally. 

Apidl 8. — Dined at Wortley Lodge, and was assigned the honor 
of taking Mrs. Gladstone to dinner. Had a long talk with the Chan- 
cellor, who has wonderful powers of conversation, — indeed, one of the 
best talkers I ever heard. Saw the boat-race between Oxford and 
Cambridge. Immense concourse of people lining the Thames, — prob- 
ably two hundred thousand. Everybody wore the colors, Oxford dark 
blue, Cambridge light blue. Heard a discourse from the Bishop of 


EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 703 

London, and thought him far inferior to our American preachers. He 
read his sermon as an essay simply, without gesture or animation. 

April 15. — Capture of Richmond. Our noble city has at last fallen 
into the hands of the enemy. How bitter the thought that the detested 
Federal flag is again to be hoisted upon the capitol ! I shudder to 
think of what may be the fate of my father and sister. Dined at the 
^^Cock,” whose plump head-waiter Tennyson celebrates, but did not 
see him. 

Apil 24. — Received a letter from sister describing the terrible 
scenes attending the evacuation of Richmond. My books are burned. 
My father has lost his all by the fire. This news, with the surrender 
of Lee’s army, wholly unfits me for work. 

April 26. — The editor of the Standard brought me news of the 
assassination of Lincoln. I fear the mind of Europe will be persuaded 
that it was prompted by Confederate influence. I was pained to learn 
that the assassin profaned the motto of Virginia. At the West End 
I found the whole metropolis intensely excited. I never witnessed 
such a sensation in London. 

April 27. — Heard Gladstone’s speech on the Budget. All the seats 
had been assigned weeks before, but througli the Speaker himself I 
obtained one. Great opulence of language, but I did not consider him 
equal to Clay, Webster, or Rives. Disraeli and Bulwer sat side by 
side. Saw John Bright for the first time. 

April 28. — Met Lady Beauchamp, — j^ronounced Beecham in Eng- 
land. 

May 6. — Saw at Bushey Park and Hampton Court the famous 
chestnut-tree in full bloom. Nothing could be more magnificent. 

May 17. — Went to Chelsea. Mr. Carlyle amused us much by his 
comments on the proclamation of Johnson. He styled him a sangui- 
nary tailor seated on Olympus. 

May 25. — While dining at Verey’s, saw Charles Dickens. He 
looked very little like a gentleman, and, to our amazement, took out a 
pocket-comb and combed his hair and whiskers, or rather his goatee, at 
the table. This is the man who ridiculed America ! 

May 27. — Dined at Verey’s. Saw Dickens again, and a recapitu- 
lation of the comb process. 

June 18. — Having closed my connection with i\iQ Index, have made 
an engagement on the Standard I am to have one leader a week for 
a guinea and a half a week. 

June 25. — At St. Mark’s Church. Heard the Archbishop of York 
preach in behalf of the Consumption Hospital at Brompton, which was 
founded on the cleansing of the lepers by our Saviour. One point he 
made was that the nine lepers who went away cured without an expres- 
sion of gratitude were not more ungrateful than we who slight his gifts 
and neglect the sufiering. I saw the bishop get into his carriage to 
take his seat by his pretty wife and two smartly-dressed children. The 
rector came out to bid my lord” good-morning, my lord’s servant, 
carrying his lawn, sermon, and prayer-book in a bag, took his place on 
the box, and all drove off* as fast as two spanking bays could take them. 

June 28. — To the Handel festival, where I saw thirteen thousand 


704 EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 


people in fashionable morning dress. Four thousand were in the 
chorus. Patti, Sims Peeves, Sainton Dolby, sang. It was magnificent. 

July 9. — Heard the Archbishop of Dublin, Richard Chenevix 
Trench, preach. Bad manner; the impressive passages were uttered 
in a sort of sob, as if broken down with his own utterance. 

Aug. 21. — I?o the Britannia Theatre to see a melodrama, The 
Confederate’s Daughter.” The villain, as General Butler, was almost 
as great a scoundrel as the original. 

Sept. 1. — Went to Ripon, Studley Park, the property of Earl De 
Grey and Ripon, who makes the public pay the expense of his park. 
Some days there are hundreds of visitors. Every visitor pays a 
shilling. 

Sept. 23. — Took a walk along the banks of the Tees and the rivulet 
Greta to Rokeby. Saw Rokeby mansion, the seat of Walter Scott’s 
friend Mr. Morritt. I recalled the old song sister and I used to sing. 
Oh, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, and Greta’s woods are green.” 

N(yv. 13. — To Windsor Castle to see Lady Augusta Stanley, one of 
the ladies-in- waiting to the queen. Were met at the station by a servant 
in livery, who showed the way. Lady Augusta’s apartment is in 
Edward the Third’s tower. There we had lunch. The bread was the 
best we had eaten in England. The service, linen, and silver bore the 
royal arms and Y. R.” Afterwards Lady Augusta took us over the 
castle. The queen and a few princesses had gone for a drive. Saw 
magnificent pictures, tapestry, statues, arms, vases, etc. The library is 
a noble one. 

Nov. 15. — Called on Carlyle. Found the Irish patriot Gavan 
Dufiy there. Carlyle gave us a graphic account of a visit to the 
thieves’ quarter in Whitechapel. He also spoke of the great ignorance 
of the educated classes in England and Germany of German history 
and literature. 

Dec. 26, Sidmouth . — At Mr. Yane’s made a bowl of egg-nog, a 
drink unknown in England. 

Jan. 11, 1866, London . — Twelve inches of snow fallen. Nothing 
can be more dismal than a fall of snow in London. No matter how 
densely fall the flakes, they are scarcely more numerous than the flakes 
of soot ; there is no sparkling surface, as there is on snow in America. 
Lunched with Dean and Lady Stanley at the deanery, Westminster. 
The dean took us into the famous Jerusalem chamber attached to the 
abbey, — a room hung with Arras tapestry, and where, according to 
Shakespeare, Henry YII. died on the floor. In the dean’s dining-room 
was a collection of the portraits of former deans : one of them was the 
famous Atterbury. 

Jan. 14. — Heard Spurgeon at the Metropolitan Tabernacle. He 
conducted the service himself. He read a psalm with so much com- 
ment that the words of David were almost lost in the performance. 
The congregation sang a hymn to the tune of Old Hundred” with 
fine effect. The argument of his sermon was to show a special provi- 
dence in the minutest phenomena of nature: every change of wind 
w^ wrought for some purpose of a spiritual nature not less than of a 
spiritual kind. His great power, I think, is owing to a good voice, 


EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 705 

great fluency, and plentiful use of homely metaphor. I know preachers 
at home far superior. 

Jan. 25. — Called at Cheyne Row. Found Carlyle in the best of 
humors. He gave us an account of the rise of Chartism in England. 
He denounced the Emperor Napoleon and John Bright with equal 
severity, and, while there was not one noble soul to be found in all 
France, England had become a great horrible discordant blacksmith’s- 
shop. 

Jan. 26. — Dean Stanley mentioned the fact that nearly all the 
grandest buildings in the world were the burial-places of monarchs, 
— St. Denis, St. Peter’s, the Escorial, Westminster, etc. Wrote my 
weekly letter to the Louisville Journal. Had my hair cut. 

Feb. 8. — Went to Mason’s and played whist with Mr. Bayard, 
United States Senator formerly from Delaware. 

Feb. 22. — While out, Mr. Tennyson called and left his card. My 
friend Lord Donoughmore died at his residence here. No man in 
England impressed me more favorably. The Standard says his death 
leaves a gap in the conservative party that will not be easily filled. 

Feb. 24. — Cheated by a rascally tradesman. 

March 5. — Had by invitation an interview with his Grace the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury on the subject of rebuilding William and Mary 
College. It lasted twenty minutes. He listened respectfully to all I 
had to say. He was very cautious not to utter a word on the Ameri- 
can war, and I was cautious not to base my appeal for the college on 
exclusive church grounds. When I rose to leave, he promised his 
favor and assistance. In the evening went to see Tennyson, at Lady 
Franklin’s, Kensington Gore. The bard was ill with a cold, but re- 
ceived me genially. Met there Mr. Woolner, Baker of the Nile, 
Macmillan the publisher, and other gentlemen, besides a Japanese. 
Two ladies came at eleven, one of them Lady Florence Cooper. 

March 9. — Dined at Colonel Percy’s of the Coldstream Guards. 
Met the Dowager Marchioness of Bath, a very intelligent old lady, a 
strong friend of the Confederacy. 

March 12. — Breakfasted at Mr. Huth’s, a friend of Thackeray’s. 
A magnificent house. The most sumptuous library I ever saw. A 
first edition of Chaucer. A splendid copy of first edition of John 
Smith’s Virginia,” Pocahontas’s portrait, proof impression of maps, 
etc. He has the celebrated collection of seventy-five black-letter 
ballads from the late Mr. Daniel’s library. 

March 18. — Heard Rev. Charles Kingsley discourse at the Chapel 
Royal, Whitehall. Crowded house. He challenged the assertion that 
this was an irreverent age. 

March 19. — Dined at Mr. Schenley’s, Prince’s Gate. He showed 
me a beautiful emerald ring given him by Lord Byron, engraved with 
devices in Arabic, the signet-ring of some pacha. Referring to Byron, 
he said he knew him well in Italy, — that he was a coarse lubberly man, 
and that all who knew him marvelled at his success with women, which 
could not be imputed to his good looks. Shelley he describes as having 
a feminine appearance and great gentleness of manner. Mr. Schenley 
was present with Trelawney and assisted at the burning of Shelley’s 


706 extracts from the diary of JOHN R. THOMPSON. 

remains. He said that the Countess of Guiccioli was never even pretty, 
even in 'premiere jeunesse, 

March 21. — Dined at Alexander Colliers. Met Charles Mackay 
and Robert Chambers, the reputed author of Vestiges of Creation.’^ 
He is an old man, with a singularly-shaped head rising high to the 
crown. He gave us interesting anecdotes of Sir Walter Scott. 

March 27. — Went to the general post-office to see the closing of the 
mail. One million letters is the daily average sent and received. Two 
thousand clerks are employed. 

April 7. — I envy every one going home. I long to see dear old 
Virginia. I love her deeper for her impoverishment. Her wasted 
fields seem more beautiful than this richly-cultured England. As for 
the best class of people there, I am convinced, as I compare them with 
the aristocracy of other countries, that they are higher in the scale of 
moral elevation than any class on earth, and, so thinking, I ask, “ Am 
I worthy the name of Virginian 

April 10. — Heard Dickens at St. James’s Hall. Admirable, and 
a crowded house, but could not help thinking it infra dig. for the 
master of fiction to come down to Mrs. Raddle. Fancy Thackeray 
imitating Becky Sharp ! 

May 1 0 . — The most momentous event is the failure of the banking- 
house of Overend, Gurney & Co. Eleven million pounds liabilities. 
A panic prevails. A dense mass of people are passing through Lom- 
bard Street. 

May 22. — To Covent Garden to buy fruit for a sick friend, but was 
scared by the price. Peaches five shillings each, apples and pears 
twenty-four shillings. Bought two pounds of grapes, thirty shillings, 
six jars raspberries at Fortnum & Mason’s for one guinea. 

June 1. — Met in Hyde Park Carlyle, the first time since the death 
of his wife. We walked as far as Brompton Road. He talked with 
all his peculiar brilliancy ; said the failure of Overend & Co. was the 
legitimate result of the Limited Liability Companies, that commercial 
men of England were mashing their faces into pancakes against the 
adamant of things. Speaking of Jefferson Davis, he declared that, 
looking at the war from first to last, Davis seemed to him one of the 
manliest actors in it, and whatever the jury might say on his trial, the 
grand jury of mankind had already declared him not guilty. Mr. 
Carlyle said he had read Moncure Conway’s paper in Fraser^s Maga- 
zine on Cincinnati, and shut up the book thanking God that he was 
four thousand miles from it all. Concerning great men, he said, never 
was greater mistake than that of believing great emergencies produced 
great men ; they were not always to be had when wanted. Referring 
to George III., he highly extolled his courage in the Lord George 
Gordon riots, and praised the library he left to the British Museum, 
as on the whole the best he had seen, telling me he had written his 
French Revolution” from the authorities he found there. 

June 9. — By rail to Felday, near Dorking, to a picnic in honor 
of Miss Annie Thackeray’s twenty-ninth birthday. Very pleasant. 
Stephen, Charles Collins, Mrs. Sartoris, and others, present. 

June 15. — At the British Museum came across a volume of pam- 


EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF JOHN R. THOMPSON. 707 

phlets that had belonged to John Howard Payne. Each one had his 
autograph. In 1811 it would appear that he was living in Richmond, 
United States. Several had a reference to the burning of the theatre. 
One was a poem, entitled A Monody on the Victims of the Confla- 
gration in the City of Richmond.’^ 

Went to Chelsea to see Mr. Carlyle. Saw his brother, and his 
niece Mrs. Welsh. Mr. Carlyle said it seemed to him men were bent 
on reversing the idea of a millennium, which was to lock up the devil 
a thousand years, and were going to give him a free passage to do his 
worst on earth. 

June 30. — Went with Bertrand Payne, Esq., to Lymington, thence 
by ferry to Yarmouth, where we took a carriage for Farringford, the 
residence of Tennyson, and were warmly received by him. A lovelier 
spot would be difiicult to find. An irregular Gothic cottage, surrounded 
by beautiful trees, the ilex and the elm, and exquisite turf, and with 
glimpses of the sea from almost every window, abundant roses, and a 
thrifty magnolia grandiflora growing on the south wall, nailed up like 
apricots, and almost secluded from the world. All was charming;' 
books everywhere, engravings, a few paintings, casts, and statuettes. 
Dined at seven. Mrs. Tennyson, a most gentle lady, in evident feeble 
health, with remains of rare beauty, the poet’s sister, an old maid, 
his boys Hallam and Lionel, this was the family. After dinner, which 
was excellent but simple, — soup, salmon, roast mutton, ducks, peas, 
tarts, pudding, strawberries, and cherries, — the gentlemen adjourned 
to the top of the house, where, in the poet’s sanctum, we had pipes 
and talk till two o’clock. 

July 1. — I came down at nine and attended prayers, Mrs. Tenny- 
son conducting the service. Took a walk to Freshwater Bay, and 
returned to lunch. In the afternoon Tennyson, Payne, and I walked 
in the direction of the Needles, wind blowing a gale. Mrs. Cameron, 
the amateur in photography, came in after dinner and asked us to sit. 
In the morning I sat with Tennyson in his den, where he read me an 
unpublished poem in continuation of the ‘^Northern Farmer.” Tenny- 
son repeated My Heart’s in the Highlands” with great unction, and 
said nobody wrote such music nowadays. Left Farringford at three 
p.M. Reached London next day. 

Aug, 1. — Saw at WoolnePs a beautiful medallion of Tennyson, 
just finished by him for Mr. Payne, of Moxon & Co. 

Atlantic telegraph in full working order. 

Encountered Sir Edwin Landseer in an omnibus. 

Sept 4. — Spent the evening with Carlyle. He talked delightfully^ 
of many matters. Speaking of literature, he said it had so degenerated" 
that we might hope an end was coming to books, and that after a while 
we might relapse into the taciturnity of our ancestors. 

Sept 12. — Visited the great tubular railway bridge that gave 
such fame to Stephenson. It is a fine thing, doubtless, a marvel of 
engineering skill, but neither the height above the water, one hundred 
feet, nor its length, make it so impressive as the suspension bridge at 
Niagara. 

Took my final leave of London, after a residence of more than 


708 


MORALITY IN FICTION. 


two years, by Great Western Railway to Cheltenham. Went to the 
great Abbey Hotel, one of the dreadfully proper hotels peculiar to 
England. The landlady begged me to throw my cigar away, as no 
smoking was allowed in the establishment. Called at Lady Wane^s, 
hoping to see the Vanes of Sidmouth, but they were away..» 

jSept. 8. — Walked about Malvern, a queer, quaint town, built in 
terraces on the side of Malvern Hills. 

Sq)t. 9. — Saw Mr. Locker, the poet, who is a patient of this famous 
hydropathic establishment. 

Saw also the porcelain-manufactory. The foreman told me that 
the wares were subjected to a temperature of 25,000 degrees of Fahren- 
heit, as ascertained by a pyrometer. 

Sept. 11. — Left Birmingham with satisfaction, — a bustling, crowded, 
vulgar, dirty town. Rain, rain everywhere. Went by rail via Ches- 
ter to Bangor. At Rhyl the new pier was carried away by the furious 
storm and the violence of the waves. 

Sept. 15. — Sailed in the steamer Cuba for New York. 

Elizabeth Stoddard. 


MORALITY IN FICTION. 

I N the publishing world it is conceded that the average man, occupied 
as he is in pursuits more or less fatiguing, will not accept literature 
at any price. What he wants is twenty-five cents’ worth of distraction. 
His wife, however, and his daughter possess a wider leisure, and not 
infrequently a finer taste. They are as attentive in the selection of a 
novel as in the choice of a gown. The material is almost as important 
as the cut. Inasmuch, then, as the writer who declines to provide diver- 
sion must look mainly to women for recognition, it is important to 
know whether, in fiction, it is the moral element that they prefer, or its 
opposite. 

On this point there is a delightful anecdote which admirably pictures 
the exact shading of the feminine mind, and which in this matter is 
decisive. Unfortunately, this is not the place to tell it. To get at the 
question, then, through another gate, an understanding of what is meant 
by morality cannot be amiss. In nature there is no criterion. One 
may review the parade of history, the search for a standard is vain. 
From the synoptic gospels the student learns that distinction is made 
between what is right and what is wrong, and to this, assuredly, it would 
be pleasant to hold, were it not that ideas of right and of wrong vary 
with the latitude. There is barely a tenet that is universally received. 
And what is still more noteworthy is the fact that what is reproved in 
one locality is applauded in another. But even were it otherwise the 
general acceptance of a tenet is not a proof of its validity. Once upon 
a time it was a universal belief that the earth was flat, it was once a 
universal belief that the earth was stationary, it was once a universal 
belief that the earth was the top of all creation, and that the sun, the 
stars, the moon, shone solely for its benefit. We have changed all that. 


MORALITY IN FICTION. 


709 


In view, then, of the divergence and convolutions of opinion, perhaps 
it may not be indecorous to regard morality as a matter of local option, 
controlled by the climate. 

That our climate is suited solely to pastorals and fairy-tales we have 
the amplest testimony from the critics. The query, however, which 
naturally arises in the mind of even the most unaggressive of novelists is 
whether he should permit the climate to affect his own individual pen. 
Frontiers are certainly admirable in their usefulness, but Thought will 
often decline to be detained. It is restive under conventions, and its 
restiveness is increased by the prescience that Time, who is at least a 
gentleman, will bring it its due unsought. Meanwhile, the novelist 
whom it favors with its companionship should think, not of the climate, 
but of the ladies, and ask himself, as good breeding dictates, what 
manner of tale they prefer. 

In endeavoring to answer this question to his own satisfaction and 
to theirs, he will probably remember that fashions change, that the 
feminine eye is pleasured by the latest, and that it is for him, as Bach- 
elor of Taste, to be one season in advance of the prevailing mode. 
Let him be ridiculed to-day, to-morrow’s ample hands are full of 
rewards. At the critic he can afford to smile ; it is a more gracious 
court to which he turns. And from the knowledge of his judges 
which life has brought, may he not safely infer that what they want, 
first and foremost, is a plot of sustained interest presented with the best 
possible effect ? 

Now, to be interesting is, admittedly, to say the opposite of what is 
expected. The best effects — witness Eembrandt — are due to an almost 
total absence of light ; and as for the plot, from whence may it come, if 
not from life ? Yet here is the rub. It is not given to every one to 
pass his existence in the society of Anthony-Trollope heroines; nor 
does every one converse exclusively of edelweiss and myosotis. The 
critic may, it is true, but in that case it is difficult to imagine him as a 
man of the world, or even of its neighborhood. His home is the 
Ideal, which we of coarser clay may admire, yet never approach. Young 
women do not always act as though they had stepped from a ballad, 
and young men do not always comport themselves after the fashion of 
German sentimentalists. In real life they are seldom so well-behaved. 
Adolphus, for instance, is sometimes overheard inviting Angelina to 
dance with him the waltz from Faust.” That he should do so is mani- 
festly unconventional, and it is unseemly of Angelina does she accept. 
But the fact that the invitation is extended does not necessarily render 
its portrayal in fiction immoral. In the opinion of grave thinkers it 
is exactly the contrary. It offers the novelist possibilities in homiletics 
which are not at all to be disdained. There are perhaps a few who 
will not agree to this. But what is there that is not contradicted? 
Are there not de par h monde people illiberal enough to deny that the 
upper notes of the flute are blue? The statement which passes un- 
challenged is a platitude. 

In this particular, then, it may be serviceable to define in what 
immorality in fiction consists, and this perhaps can be best accomplished 
by means of a few examples. The novels of the unlamented Marquess 


710 


MORALITY IN FICTION. 


of Sade turn wholly on the invitation alluded to, and that invitation 
is the basis of half of the Com^die Humaine. But where the marquess 
is lascive as a faun, Balzac is severe as an ancestor in oil. To the one 
virtue represented stupidity, to the other it represented the sublime. The 
author of ‘‘Justine’^ was wholly Carthaginian in his views, the author 
of La Fille aux Yeux d’Or’^ thoroughly logical. Balzac degraded his 
reprehensible characters, de Sade ennobM them. It is true the latter 
was crazy, but then the same thing has been hinted of Balzac. This, 
however, by the way, and the point of which the conveyance has been 
sought is this, that if the novelist in handling that invitation and in 
deducing its rigorous results has the ability to show that, independent 
of geography, it is conscience which makes the sinner, not the sin, he 
is deserving of the thanks of every guardian, be that guardian but ad 
litem. 

On the other hand, when the novelist imitates de Sade, as has Mr. 
Mallock in the Romance of the Nineteenth Century,^^ and sends his 
heroine on the clear level flight of angel wings straight up to Paradise, 
instead of leaving her to prowl a wanton in the purlieus of the parish, 
then indeed we have the immoral in fiction, the apotheosis of vice. It 
is presumably due to a misunderstanding of these distinctions that the 
&arlet Letter’’ and Adam Bede” are thought unsuited to the Young 
Person. 

Admittedly, the novelist who goes about kicking down screens 
and pulling curtains aside is ill advised. No one save the Quaker 
maiden of history ever really wanted to be shocked. A hint is easy 
of digestion, and if the novelist know his art he can send out that 
hint masked to the teeth and yet pregnant with suggestion. Of the 
critic he need not concern himself in the least, unless it be to hope for 
his disapproval. For the average reviewer, in love with a past of 
which he knows nothing, and afraid of a future in which he will have 
no part, is a very amusing individual. Does he condemn a book, it 
succeeds. Does he praise it, presto ! it is dead. It is of the ladies 
and of their finer susceptibilities that the novelist should take most 
heed. And what healthy-minded woman is there that would object to 
a novel because it happened to turn on that archaic duo which has been 
sung since time began and which at each repetition seems an original 
theme? If objection there be, it is the accompaniment that jars, not 
the aria itself. 

In Paris, at the present moment, the success of the season is the 
“ Immortel,” a series of anecdotes so acrid in odor that they would upset 
a ragpicker, and yet so artfully interwoven that they could safely pass 
into the hands of the Young Person. Elle n^y verrait que dufeu. In 
our more immediate neighborhood the success of the year is Miss 
Rives’ novel, a work well calculated to bring the Young Person 
dreams, but not at all of a nature to keep her guardian awake. In the 
one you mark the assurance of a man that knows whereof he speaks 
and does not hesitate to be loquacious. In the other you feel the in- 
fluence and the charm of an imagination at war with the commonplace, 
an imagination at once turbulent and refined. These two books have 
caused much pain to the critic, and what has completed the witic’s 


MORALITY IN FICTION. 


711 


distress is the fact that both of them are masterpieces. In noting this 
incident, the present writer refers of course merely to the reviewers in 
this country. In France they strum a different guitar. A little while 
ago, a few decades at most, Stendhal was pleased to say, La morality 
am4ricaine me semble d’une abominable vulgarity, et en lisant les 
ouvrages de leurs hommes distingu6s, je n’6prouve qu^un seul d6sir, 
c’est de jamais les rencontrer.’^ One may fancy that his very ink 
would blush did he encounter the gentlemen who take Miss Rives to 
task. But then it is such an easy matter to find fault. And that easy 
matter is made the easier in that the impeccable exists only to the 
genius and his peers. At the time when Voltaire overshadowed the 
majesty of two kings, he was accused of not knowing orthography. 

So much the worse for orthography,’’ said Rivarol. Truly, there are 
few among us that can wear our wrinkles, as did Ninon de I’Enclos, on 
the heel. 

The masters of ornamental literature have shown as much uncon- 
cern in this matter as we do of the state of the weather in Fiji. They 
occupied themselves in dissecting the human heart, in voicing nature, in 
displaying man. The question of morality they left to the casuists. 
To refuse them countenance on that account is like putting cotton in 
the ear : a possible influenza may be avoided, but hearing is dulled. Yet 
few are illiberal enough for that. In Boston, that city which the 
wanderer from the West described as a place where respectability 
stalked unchecked, an audience of exceeding refinement sat out (Edipus 
Tyrannus,” of which the central situation is barely mentionable in 
ordinary speech. And, what is more noteworthy, the audience ap- 
plauded that stupendous tragedy with a full understanding of its mean- 
ing, and with no other thought than one of admiration for Sophocles 
and the power which that giant displayed. Shakespeare and Moli^re, to 
cite the higher names, possess a magnetism that is sentiable even by the 
indifferent ; the science of life was theirs by right of intuition : they put 
no ink in the veins of their characters, they made them of flesh and of 
blood, sometimes noble, often the reverse, but always real. They did 
not paint existence as we would like it to be, but as it is. To call them 
immoral on that account is to be a paradoxist indeed. The effect of 
such writers on an impressionable adolescent is that of a bugle blown 
suddenly through the quiet of a dawn : he awakes with the thrill of 
larger life. Yet give him Thackeray, against whom the charge of 
immorality has yet to be brought, and he will consider debts the appa- 
nage of a gentleman, and the Hiking of tailors an amiable pursuit. 

The question, then, of morality in fiction is seemingly a question of 
literary ability. An author may handle any topic, however scabreuXy 
provided that he seek less to entertain than to instruct. “ Ich schriebe 
nicht zu gefallen,” said Goethe. “ Ihr sollt was lernen.” Any one can 
map a plot of such lancinating interest that were it put on the stage 
the audience would rush from the theatre screaming with fright. Any 
one with two cents’ worth of imagination and a cigarette can do that. 
And as for pleasing, why, that is the whole secret of mediocrity. But 
to be artistic is a diferent matter. Art in fiction consists in the deten- 
tion of the evanescent. And in detaining it the artist should be as 
VoL. XLIT.— 46 


712 


MORALITY IN FICTION. 


unaffected by local caprices as the mathematician is unaffected by the 
color of the pencil with which his equation is solved. It is in the 
powder that danger lurks, not in the fuse. The difference between 
Dr. Jekyll in the play and Dr.Jekyll in the novel is a case in point. 
In the novel the feminine element is absent. The action of the play 
turns on the murder of a man who thwarts the would-be ravisher of 
his daughter. The instant transformation of the perfect lover into the 
perfect beast is perhaps not one which Mr. Stevenson would feel himself 
called upon to depict, and yet an opportunity richer in the evanescent, 
in retroacting emotions and hatred of self, it is difficult for the artist 
to devise. Had Mr. Stevenson availed himself of it, it is permissible 
Ho suppose that, as a lesson in life, it would have been of a benefit as 
appreciable as the admonition which he actually gave. 

It is in this pinning of the evanescent that such artists as Mr. 
James and M. Bourget excel. Indeed, the one difference between 
them is that where Mr. James is handicapped by the prudery of Anglo- 
American prejudices, M. Bourget is in possession of an untrammelled 
pen. To the one the question of conventionalities is paramount, to the 
other it does not exist, — a state of affairs which may perhaps account 
for the fact that where Mr. James lulls his I’eader with minor chords, 
M. Bourget brings him a succession of little thrills that are comparable 
only to those which the visit of the unexpected wasp conveys. M. 
Bourget represents the tonifying element in fiction, Mr. James the 
sedative. 

Moreover, in this question there is the relativity to be considered. 
Not to every one is it given to disentangle threads of silk from the 
refuse of the barn. If every maker of rhyme stood on the same pedes- 
tal as Victor Hugo, Victor Hugo would cease to be a synonyme. And, 
by the same token, if every novelist spawned upon the public the same 
quality of mud as the author of La Terre,’^ Zola would be as indis- 
tinguishable from his brethren as one ballet-dancer is from another. 
That matters are otherwise we may indeed be thankful. There are 
hours in which Hugo is stupid as an anonymous landscape, and Zola 
inartistic as a Wesleyan chapel. And yet both are deserving of vivas. 
Both declined to abide by canons that others had made. With that 
dower of common sense which is the appurtenance of makers of 
epochs, each from his individual tower discovered that high-roads are 
sterile. Thereupon Hugo entered the drawing-room of letters attired 
in a new theory ; Zola opened a kindergarten and gave his scholars 
facts. From the one came the watchword of Liberty in Art ; and we all 
remember how demoniac Gautier was in its defence. On the standard 
of the other is the rubric, Down with Dream. Latterly Romanticism 
has been relegated to the provinces, and Naturalism has ceased to appeal. 
As a consequence, the pickets that guard the literary outposts are alert 
for the earliest signal that shall rumor a new manifesto. It is evident 
to them as to us that our fiction, if not next door to a pauper, lives 
practically in the same street. The reader is tired of whipped cream 
and filigrees ; he has an indigestion of pemmican. Well, then, may 
the pickets bite their thumbs. It cometh not, they mourn. Yet even 
as they do so it has passed the sentinels unchallenged and crossed the 


MORALITY IN FICTION. 


713 


lines unseen. The Exact Representation of the Fugitive Impression is 
the name it bears. Among the few to give it welcome is the author of 
The Quick or the Dead 

Whether or not Miss Rives’ hospitality was intentional the present 
writer is uninformed. It is presumable, however, that it was effortless 
and spontaneous, as true hospitality ever is. In any event it served a 
purpose, and, until the reader wearies anew, the freedom of the city is 
its. Meanwhile, that it may be recognized on sight, the present writer 
begs the indulgence of a moment more. 

The pleasure which comes of a novel should be physical. It should 
put the reader in a state of tension sufficient to cause an evocation of 
fancies which without that influence would decline to appear. The 
author who affects his reader as an easy-cliair does may be comforting 
as easy-chairs are, but there comes an hour when he is relegated to the 
garret. The first duty of a novelist is to irritate the reader. The 
second duty is to be able to bone the dictionary as readily as a chef 
bones a bird. The third duty is to have emotions, and to be so prompt 
in detaining them that the reader shares their effect. But, paramount 
of all, he should let no work go from him that does not instil some 
lesson and make men, and women too, the better and the wiser for his 
prose. If he fail in any one of these duties, then the Exact Represen- 
tation of the Fugitive Impression is not his to c<j>nvey. 

Already the day of lullabies is gone ; gone are the pastorals of our 
youth ; gone, too, are the harpists we were wont to hear. The skies are 
less neighborly than in days of old, the earth is larger, and literature 
of quicker breath. Of the charmers of earlier years, some have not 
left their names, some have faded into myth, while others have passed 
even from mythology itself. To be authoritative to-day the novelist 
must learn to forget. In his grasp are new'er tools arid methods of 
such cunning that with them he can paint the impalpable and chisel 
a dream. On the subject of morality he should still be cautious. Yet, 
does he possess those finer fibres of which refinement is the woof, he 
needs no rememoration to divine that the secret of morality in fiction 
consists less in situations suggested than in the sentiments which those 
situations arouse. 

There are, it may be, a number of estimable people who will not 
be able to feel wholly sure that the foregoing statements are true. But 
then there are people who are not sure that it is cold in winter, or that 
Virgil is a bore, unless they read it in print. There are even people 
who gauge the value of a book by the number of its editions. You, 
sir, and you, madam, who do the writer the honor to read these lines, 
are assuredly better informed ; yet have you a lingering doubt, then let 
him pray you, take a glance through the dust-bins of fiction. 

Edgar Saltus. 


714 


CORPORATE SURETYSHIP. 


CORPORATE SURETYSHIP. 

OT more than fifteen years ago, a member of the Philadelphia bar, 
jLM having been appointed guardian for certain minors, was required 
to obtain the usual security in double the amount of the estate, before 
he could enter upon the duties of his office. Being widely and favor- 
ably known, and an exceptionally popular person besides, he set forth 
in quest of the necessary bondsmen with a cheerful confidence not 
warranted by subsequent events. To use his own expression when 
relating this incident to the writer of this article, he thought he could 
get his security round the corner in a few minutes ; but he travelled 
over the whole city for several weeks, and ended by becoming a victim 
to despondency, bordering upon despair. 

It was necessary to get at least one freeholder — that is, a person 
owning real estate — to the amount of the bond, clear of all encumbrances. 
He had many friends who were anxious to do him such a favor. But 
numerous insurmountable obstacles intervened. Some of the proposed 
sureties had not quite enough margin over encumbrances ; another had 
put his house in his wife’s name, and she was legally forbidden to sign 
such a bond ; another was in a partnership, one of whose conditions 
was that no co-partner should enter security ; another had entered 
security elsewhere ; another really owned his freehold, but the title was 
still under a cloud ; some others would be glad to oblige him for a 
compensation amounting to quite three times his commissions as guar- 
dian ; and so forth. Whereupon he finally gave up his appointment, 
and, with it, a fair remuneration for several years, merely because of 
his inability to comply with a requirement which, certainly in his case, 
was “ a mere matter of form.” 

This little incident set our friend to thinking. What had happened 
to him must be constantly happening to others. Why should he be 
subjected to such embarrassment on the one hand, and his friends to 
such inconvenience on the other ? Why could not a business transac- 
tion be performed through business methods? In other words, why 
could not the act of bonding be done for a price and on the insurance 
principle by a corporation, chartered to take such risks and reinforced 
by large capital ? 

It was not long afterwards that the great need emphasized by such 
cases as this found practical relief in the organization in this country, 
and within the past few years, of several surety companies, ably man- 
aged and having large financial resources. The conspicuous success of 
these companies has made it safe to predict that before the end of this 
century the signing of a bond as an act of friendship will come to be 
regarded as a relic of barbarism. Indeed, it is difficult to understand, 
in this age of marvellous commercial development and progress, how 
such a universal and indispensable matter as suretyship should have 
remained at a stand-still, with scarcely a tittle of improvement, from 
the time when Alfred of England, one thousand years ago, required 
the tithing-man to be surety for the good behavior of all the members 


CORPORATE SURETYSHIP. 


715 


of his decennary. It is true that in England the guaranteeing of the 
fidelity of employes was recognized as the proper function of mutual 
and other corporations more than forty years ago ; but it was only in 
recent years — under the authority of a Treasury Minute of November 
3, 1871 — that the practice of bonding government officials in England 
could be said to have been definitely established. 

These official and employ^ bonds, however, are but a small fraction 
out of the aggregate of bonds which men of property are requested to 
sign for their friends. Suretyship was once admirably and satirically 
defined by Judge Lumpkin in a Georgia case as a lame substitute for 
a thorough knowledge of human nature.^^ This is the essence of 
suretyship. If we could only be sure of the continued good conduct 
of those whom we intrust with our money, we could in most cases 
dispense with security from them. But we cannot be confident beyond 
a doubt. Hence security is required in almost every conceivable 
transaction involving the custody by one man of the valuables belong- 
ing to another. All administrators who manage the estates of the dead 
must furnish security in double the amount of the personal estate, 
sometimes to the extent of millions of dollars. In many States, 
though not in Pennsylvania, executors are required to give similar 
security. Every assignee of property assigned for the benefit of 
creditors by embarrassed firms or other commercial enterprises must 
give bond. Every receiver, or person appointed by the court to take 
control of partnership or other property over which there is litigation 
of a certain kind, must give bond. All guardians for minor children 
are required to enter security. Committees to take charge of the estates 
of persons declared insane must give bond. In many cases commis- 
sioners and masters for public sales of property must enter security. 

Hence, and for reasons based upon the same principle, the method 
of obtaining the attendance of persons sued in the civil courts in actions 
of negligence, malicious prosecution, trespass, deceit, conspiracy, assault 
and battery, and all other causes of action that may be classed as wrongs 
tainted with fraud, has for centuries consisted of taking security in the 
nature of bail. So of course in all cases of criminal prosecution to 
prevent the escape of the defendant. So in all cases where the property 
of a non-resident is seized in the first instance and before judgment ; 
and in cases where property is attached before judgment on account of 
fraud committed by the owner, who is defendant ; and in cases where 
the plaintiff is a non-resident : in all these cases security must be en- 
tered by the plaintiff to compel him to carry on his suit faithfully, and, 
in the last instance, to pay the costs. So, in all appeals from one court 
to another, appeal bonds must be entered. 

The domain of contracts offers an almost unlimited field for the 
entering of security, especially in the case of contracts with munici- 
palities and States for furnishing supplies and for the erection of build- 
ings, and in the case of building contracts with private individuals. In 
each of these cases a bond is required from the contractor. Often the 
contractor requires bonds from sub-contractors, or those who work for 
and under him. Over all these transactions a net-work of bonds is 
thrown, to secure the faithful and prompt completion of the work. 


716 


CORPORATE SURETYSHIP. 


It is unnecessary to multiply instances. Enough has been shown 
to make the most casual observer appreciate the number and magnitude 
of the risks that were imposed, under the old system, upon the shoulders 
of individual sureties, — burdens so heavy and perilous that we are not 
surprised to see how many financial wrecks have been caused by the 
short-sighted policy of signing a bond as a matter of form and to 
oblige a friend. It is no wonder that the literature of fiction and the 
stage abounds with these familiar disasters, picturing the honest bonds- 
man sitting amid the ruins of his once prosperous home as he contem- 
plates the fell work accomplished by one good-natured stroke of a pen. 

He that is surety for a stranger,^^ said King Solomon, shall smart 
for it, and he that hateth suretyship is sure.’^ 

It is now possible for men of means to refuse these burdensome 
undertakings and to refer the applicant to some reliable surety company 
as a method of getting his security, precisely as he gets his fire and life 
insurance. This, however, is but a small part of the advantages gained 
by the existence of such companies. The business of corporate surety- 
ship is so recent that there still exists considerable misapprehension and 
want of comprehension in regard to its breadth and scope and the direct 
influence it exerts upon the welfare and stability of the community. 
This is, of course, the history of every commercial and legal reform. 
The business of trusteeship, for instance, is a notable example. One 
hundred years ago the idea that any chartered aggregation should act as 
a trustee, guardian, executor, or administrator would have been consid- 
ered preposterous. The office seemed essentially personal. In view of 
what our modern eyes behold, how deliciously absurd is the language of 
the revered Blackstone, when he says, A corporation cannot be executor 
or administrator, or perform any personal duties ; for it cannot take an 
oath for the due execution of the office.’^ ! In these days the bulk of 
all considerable estates is in the hands of wealthy and reliable corpora- 
tions, as executors, administrators, and trustees that do not die or specu- 
late with the funds, and whose admirable management has caused indi- 
vidual trusteeship to dwindle into comparative insignificance. 

Kow, there are more and better reasons for holding that tlie act of 
suretyship should never be personal or gratuitous. This is true, not 
only in justice to him who becomes surety for another, but also for the 
sake of him for whose benefit the security is given. If the individual 
bondsman dies, much trouble is generally incurred in order to realize 
from his estate : the corporate bondsman exists perpetually. An indi- 
vidual bondsman may be rich to-day and poor to-morrow : the corpo- 
ration is under the supervision of law, has established assets, and a 
reserve fund to provide for losses. If a claim is made upon the bond 
of an individual, he inevitably tries to wriggle out of it by hook or by 
crook, and the public (including juries) naturally sympathizes with his 
efforts : a corporation that has signed the bond for a compensation and 
then should try to wriggle out of its liability would soon realize its 
want of wisdom in a loss of the confidence of the business world ; on 
the contrary, the policy of such a corporation is to pay the loss gener- 
ously and promptly, without murmur or quibble. Two individuals 
generally must sign the bond : one corporation is permitted to take 


CORPORATE SURETYSHIP. 


717 


their place. Corporate suretyship is, moreover, considerably to the 
advantage of those who must give bond for the faithful performance 
of certain duties. The case of a trustee, assignee, or administrator is 
in point. It happens daily that some business-man, through the death 
of a friend or relative, or through the disability or insolvency of rela- 
tives or friends, is invested, in one of these offices, with the care of 
some large estate, involving time, trouble, expense, and much respon- 
sibility. If he gets his friend, in tlie old way, to sign the bond, he 
places himself under a load of obligation which to a conscientious man 
becomes a source of constant anxiety and embarrassing gratitude. The 
bondsman then departs, unable or unwilling to keep his eye upon the 
estate or to pry into the actions of him whose fidelity he has solemnly 
guaranteed, yet uneasy for many years, lest some mistake of his 
friend should cause a serious loss. The other, on his part, is cast upon 
his own resources ; he must sink or swim in the vessel he has under- 
taken to navigate. But if security is given by a corporation, the whole 
affair at once becomes a matter of business. The assignee, guardian, 
executor, trustee, or administrator is required to place himself and the 
estate under the continuous supervision of the company. All cash 
must be deposited in the banking department of the company, and all 
checks drawn upon it must be countersigned by one of its officers. All 
securities must be placed for safe keeping in the company’s safe and 
vaults : the key of the administrator turns the lock half-way open, and 
a key in the hands of the company’s officer then turns the lock the rest 
of the way. These precautions are salutary, and the administrator 
realizes that in acting under the supervision and advice of the company 
he is guided by an experienced counsellor, and the best and wisest of 
friends because the one most interested in conserving the estate. 

These are cases in which the law demands security. But there 
is another and far wider class of cases where responsible duties are 
daily performed by employes, — cases upon which the law places no 
such restraint, but in which it would seem that every consideration of 
prudence should imperatively demand some form of protection. This 
class is technically called Fidelity Insurance. It embraces all em- 
ployments involving the collection or custody of cash or other property 
belonging to the employer, and employments in which responsible 
duties are performed, the wrongful doing of which might entail serious 
damage. The number of such employes is large and their duties 
various : cashiers, tellers, messengers, and other employes of banks and 
trust companies, treasurers of all kinds, collectors and agents, book- 
keepers and clerks, employes of railroad companies, such as station 
agents and fiduciary employes at the offices of such companies, operators 
of telegraph companies, officers of lodges, managers and superintendents, 
all are included in this class. 

In such employments, and especially in the case of cashiers and 
book-keepers employed by merchants, there is as yet a looseness in 
insuring against loss by defalcation that can only be accounted for by 
the comparatively recent growth of fidelity insurance and the conse- 
quently imperfect knowledge concerning its advantages. 

For example, it is the rule rather than the exception to see a man 


718 


CORPORATE SURETYSHIP. 


who is in active business, and who is accounted prudent according to 
existing standards, with his property insured to the following extent 
and no further : he has insured his dwelling-house against fire, say, for 
$10,000 ; he has insured his life, say, for $25,000 ; he has insured 
the stock and fixtures at his store, say, for $50,000. Having done 
this, he feels satisfied that he has surrounded himself and his family 
with all the safeguards that caution can suggest. Yet how does he 
stand ? The bulk of his fortune is uninsured. Thousands and hun- 
dreds of thousands of dollars, represented by cash, bonds and mortgages, 
coupon bonds, stock, and other negotiable securities, are in the hands 
of a cashier or manager or confidential clerk, absolutely without in- 
surance except the assurance the employer may feel in the honesty of 
the trusted employ 6. Why should he feel safe? For him to say that he 
believes implicitly that this particular employ^ will not steal is, of 
coui'se, well enough, and highly creditable to his Christian feeling of 
confidence in the uprightness of human nature. But in a practical 
business sense it is no better than if he should say that he believes 
implicitly that his particular house will not burn down and that his 
particular life will have its normal duration. It is not only no better, 
but the fact is that the risk is greater in the case of his employ^ than 
in that of his house. This will appear at once by getting at the pro- 
portion, in value, of property burned to property insured, and by com- 
paring this proportion with the proportion of money stolen to money 
insured. This, in either case, is the risk assumed by not insuring ; and 
the comparison will show which is the greater risk of the two. 

If we take up a little book called The Philadelphia Insurance 
Chart,” carefully compiled by the Franklin Fire Insurance Company, 
to whose secretary the writer is indebted for its use, we will find, under 
the funereal caption How Philadelphia Burns,” the following figures 
in regard to dwelling-houses : 

Whole amount of dwellings insured for fourteen years, from 1874 


to 1887 inclusive $384,000,000 

Total insurance loss on same 425,933 


From which figures we find that of every thousand dollars insured 
$1.11 is burned. This seems a large risk, yet here is a larger : 

If we turn to the official report of the business of a large and 
responsible surety company, incorporated in New York, we find the 
following figures ; 

Aggregate value of bonds of Fidelity Insurance for two years 

and ten months, to March 7, 1887 $16,486,218.00 

Estimated total losses paid in that department during that time 29,260.18 

Showing the astounding fact that out of every thousand dollars in 
the hands of bonded employes $1.77 is stolen, making this risk greater 
by at least one-half than the risk assumed in not insuring against fire. 

For a trifling premium this risk can, and should be, avoided in 
every case of fiduciary employment. No prudent business-man can 
dare to disregard such an obvious and substantial danger. If figures 
are of any value, it would be far safer for him to lift his policies from 


CORPORA TE S U RET F SHIP. 


719 


his house and furniture and put them on his employes, for, in fire- 
insurance parlance, the latter are more combustible than the former. 

A fact still more striking presents itself in this connection. It is 
this ; the general instinct is now to insure against fire, just as one washes 
to prevent disease. Therefore it is undoubted that most tangible prop- 
erty is insured against such a loss. But the cash and securities insured 
under the above figures and elsewhere are but a small part of the 
enormous masses of similar wealth in this country in the hands of 
fiduciaries and absolutely uninsured. The proof of the fact lies in the 
statistics carefully compiled by the New York Herald of July, 1888, 
showing the amount of money stolen by embezzlers for the past ten 
years. The result is startling. It shows that during that period at 
least fifty million dollars were stolen by defaulters, exclusive of all 
those numerous cases in which the amounts were less than two thousand 
dollars each. The largest defalcation was that of Ferdinand Ward, 
who wrecked the firm of Grant & Ward to the tune of §1(6,735,473.72 ; 
among otlier notable robberies, out of this long and terrible black list, 
may be mentioned the case of Oscar Baldwin, cashier of the Mechanics^ 
National Bank of Newark, New Jersey, who stole §2,500,000 on 
October 30, 1881 ; that of John C. Eno, who stole §3,000,000 from 
the Second National Bank of New York ; that of Kiddle and Keiber, 
officers of the Penn Bank of Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, who stole 
§1,500,000, and ruined the bank. These are the titanic robbers. The 
ghastly hosts of lesser thieves, the confidential clerks, trusted employes, 
highly-respected cashiers, and others of that ilk, follow this inglorious 
lead in such numbers as indeed to make the most careless business-man 
stop and ponder whether some form of protection might not keep him 
from being himself swallowed up some evil day by this frightful tide 
of daily defalcation. 

No doubt much of this disregard shown by employers for their own 
best interests is due to the personal and confidential relations existing 
between themselves and their employes, creating a sympathy and respect 
which entail too often the blind confidence spoken of by the news- 
papers with almost every defalcation that comes to light. This feeling 
is, of course, not entertained towards inanimate objects, and the conse- 
quence is that we can deal more coldly and brutally with our house and 
furniture than with our trusted clerk. He seems so honest that he 
must be so. His habits are straight. It is impossible that he would 
steal. All this is true in the great majority of cases, and it is indeed 
well that so much can be said. But every day some new case, more 
surprising than its predecessor, crops up and makes us marvel at the 
childlike trust reposed, year after year, in cool, systematic scoundrels 
who steal millions with a sang-froid savoring of satanity. A highly- 
respectable book-keeper (to all appearances) stole thousands upon thou- 
sands of dollars from a prominent bank in Philadelphia Tor a period 
of many years, and was much admired for his inordinate modesty in 
refusing all offers of promotion to another set of duties ! A mere 
accident brought the defalcation to light, which otherwise might have 
gone on apparently for another twenty years. By a simple enough 
method the cashier of the Philadelphia Times managed to do away with 


720 


CORPORATE SURETYSHIP, 


about $30,000 in nine years, and was discovered more on account of 
bis own folly in being so ostentatiously extravagant than for any other 
reason. In very many of these cases, however, the thief is neither a 
gambler nor a rake. He likes to live well, and he lives beyond his 
income. He does this from a remarkable, morbid desire to be respected 
or envied, and he risks his life, his family, his reputation, his happi- 
ness, to gratify this petty ambition, the fashionable spirit of a metallic 
age. The heaviest burden of such calamities is that which falls on 
innocent shoulders, — the poor, delicate shoulders of wives and children. 
What hopes are gone ; what dependent lives are wrecked ; what ambi- 
tions broken ; what shame, what humiliation, what despair : no words 
can paint these things as they exist about us in the living presence 
every day. The sin of one weak man, — if it could be made to punish 
him alone ! But the punishment goes on from generation to generation, 
and from kin to kin, spreading its rottenness and barrenness and living 
death among all those who bear the shunned and dishonored name. It 
is hard to believe that many such persons exist; it is impossible to 
deny that they do exist in quantities ; it is impossible not to suspect 
that many of them are not discovered at all, that the employer goes 
on wondering at the smallness of his net profits, and that the unin- 
sured and very particularly trusted employ! is quite as likely as any- 
body else to be the person who keeps the profits down. 

The growth of a new idea is always interesting. What was unknown 
and unnecessary yesterday seems familiar and indispensable to-day. 
This is true of life and fire insurance beyond a doubt. It is now 
becoming more and more so in the case of a much younger form of 
insurance, — that which is called Title Insurance. The public is becoming 
familiar with it, and begins to recognize its advantages. Twenty years 
ago the purchaser of a house paid anywhere from fifty to five hun- 
dred dollars for the work of a conveyancer, who gave him an opinion 
upon the soundness of his title and concerning the extent to which the 
property was charged with encumbrances. If some flaw in the title 
or some unknown encumbrance were afterwards discovered by which a 
serious loss should be incurred, the purchaser had no redress against his 
conveyancer unless the latter had been guilty of extraordinary negli- 
gence, in which event it would be far from certain whether the con- 
veyancer could ever be made to pay the loss. It occurred to a few 
active minds that here was a risk that might well be guarded by some 
form of insurance. Hence the numerous and responsible title insurance 
companies, enterprises that are now considered indispensable. The 
possible loss is reduced to a minimum. For a nominal premium the 
purchaser of real estate obtains an insurance policy guaranteeing him 
against all loss by reason of a defective title or after-discovered encum- 
brances, such as mortgages, ground-rents, municipal claims, and any 
other charges for which as owner he would be legally responsible in 
addition to the purchase-money. The advantage would seem too obvi- 
ous for discussion. Yet it is a fact that many purchasers of real estate 
still cling to the old-fashioned, uncouth, and dangerous system, which 
proves not that title insurance is wrong, but that the idea is too recent 
to have gained universal endorsement. * 


CORPORATE SURETYSHIP. 


721 


The adoption of this system, however, may now be said to be all 
but universal. Here again, what is the difference in risk between 
title insurance and fidelity insurance? The premium is $2.50 on 
every thousand dollars of title insurance; the risk is certainly not 
more than 30 cents on every thousand dollars as against $1.77 in the 
case of insurance against defalcation by employes. No one questions 
the advisability of insuring titles. But is it not strange that the 
public mind is at present so constituted that the same persons who 
would pass sleepless nights if the title to their real estate were without 
insurance lose not a breath of slumber at the thought that their cash 
and many other forms of property are at the mercy of one or more 
employes, the ratio of whose peculations amounts to at least five times 
the ratio of loss by reason of ownership of real estate? 

Fidelity insurance, like all good things, grows on acquaintance. 
No corporation or individual ever relinquished it after once having 
adopted it. The large railroad companies take what are known as 
“ blanket bonds,’^ insuring all their employes, or ail employes in one 
department or section. Among banks and trust companies the practice 
is almost universal. Even the Federal government is beginning to feel 
the need of such a system. It has been urged upon Congress by ex- 
Postmaster-General Howe and ex-Secretary Lincoln in strong and con- 
vincing language. John A. McCall, Superintendent of the Insurance 
Department of the State of New York, said, It is evident that the 
popularity of a corporation guarantee of faithfulness in public and pri- 
vate employments will command a large business. There are many 
more benefits in it compared with the old method of accepting the 
bonds of an individual. The business conservatively conducted must 
supplant personal responsibility.^^ 

The method by which an employ^ is bonded in a surety company 
is simple enough. The employ 6, having been requested by his employer 
to furnish a bond in some stated amount, goes to a reliable surety com- 
pany and fills out and signs an application. The application contains 
a number of questions regarding the character and antecedents of the 
employ^, which must be answered fully and specifically. All employ- 
ments for ten years last past must be clearly stated, with the reason for 
leaving each. A complete description of the appearance of the appli- 
cant is noted on the back of the application. At least four responsible 
persons must be given as references. To each of them a special form 
of questions is then sent. Upon satisfactory answers to these questions, 
and upon a careful private investigation of the habits of life of the 
applicant, a bond is executed by the guarantee company and handed to 
the employer insuring him against loss arising from dishonesty on the 
part of the employ^. 

At the very threshold it is remarkable to observe how many em- 
ployers dread to offend their employes by asking them for such a bond. 
This may be very well as a matter of delicate politeness, but surely, 
in the expressive language of trade, “ it is not business.” The question 
is not what is most courteous, but what is most right ? What is most 
just not only to the employer but to the employe himself? Could a 
better test be devised than to ask an employe to give a bond ? If he 


722 


CORPORATE SURETVSHIP. 


is honest, he will do so cheerfully; if he gets offended, it were as well 
to discharge him without much delay. 

The bonding system proceeds upon the principle that an ounce of 
prevention is better than a pound of cure. The payment by a faithful 
guarantee company of a heavy defalcation loss is certainly a comfort to 
any employer, and ought not to be sneezed at on account of a small 
premium. Many a business-man has been saved from ruin by prompt 
reimbursement of this kind. Many another has been relieved from 
temporary insolvency. But the greatest advantage of the corporate 
bonding system is that the payment of a premium is generally the ounce 
of prevention. The bond of a friend will not act as a preventive. The 
relations between the bondsman and the employ^ are too familiar and 
personal. The attention of the writer was recently called to a startling 
instance of the viciousness of individual bonding. A certain cashier in 
a prominent bank not far from Philadelphia was bonded by his friend. 
The latter was a man in active business requiring a large line of note 
discounts. He dealt with his friend^s bank. Naturally he made use 
of the obligation which he had imposed upon this cashier in going on 
his bond, and thereby obtained the cashier’s influence with the board 
of directors to enable him to get the bank to discount his notes to an 
amount entirely unwarranted and unsafe. This thing is still going on. 
How long will it continue without loss to the bank that permits it ? 

On the other hand, the relations between the surety company and 
the bonded employ^ are purely business-like. In the editorial language 
of the Philadelphia Times, of February 10, 1888, — 

The corporation protects itself, as all other insurers do, by a sys- 
tematic and ceaseless watchful ness^ against losses. It notes the habits 
of insured parties ; it is not blinded by gifts to charities or ostentatious 
prayers in Sunday-schools and churches; it reduces everything to 
matter-of-fact business, and when it detects a guilty party his punish- 
ment is inevitable.” 

Employes are beginning to understand this, and it is a notable fact 
that to be bonded with a watchful surety company is the very best 
restraint upon any possible tendencies to wrong-doing. “ Knowing and 
using the terrors of the law,” said the apostle, we persuade men.” 

Thus the bonding of the employ^ may not only insure the employer 
from loss but save the employ^ himself from crime. The following 
instance is in point. A surety company in Philadelphia had bonded a 
collector for a sewing-machine agency, who was to all first appearances 
scrupulously correct in his habits. The usual cold, careful, and quiet 
investigation was made from time to time, and it w^as learned that this 
man was leading a double life, — that he was intemperate and vicious 
and living beyond his means. The next step would in all probability 
have been a defalcation. But this was prevented. The surety com- 
pany at once notified the employer that it would not be further respon- 
sible upon the bond, remitting, of course, a proportionate share of the 
premium already paid. The employer had an interview with the com- 
pany, was told of his ‘Hrusted employe’s” habits, thanked the company 
for this timely warning, and discharged his man. 

The business of corporate suretyship is yet in its youth. Much of 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 


723 


it is tentative. Every year of additional experience reveals some error 
to be avoided or some improvement to be adopted. A few years hence 
the present methods may seem comparatively uncouth and unwieldy. 
But enough has been achieved to give fair promise of a system which 
is gradually becoming a marvellous science ; encouraging the hope that 
at no distant time the terrible burden of responsibility weighing upon 
those who sign bonds to oblige their friends will be lifted off entirely, 
and that even that other more terrible burden of daily defalcation bear- 
ing down so heavily and unjustly upon the shoulders of the business 
world, if it cannot be taken away entirely, may at all events be reduced 
to its minimum weight. 

Lincoln L. Eyre. 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 

26 . What is the origin of the phrase Who breaks — pays 

In one form or another this saying is to be met with in the pro- 
verbial literature of most European countries, and it would be difficult 
to say positively when or where it originated. But it appears to have 
been most used in taverns. As drinking and carousing from the earliest 
days have always imperilled the surrounding furniture, the motto Who 
breaks pays’’ would be a very appropriate one in bacchanalian resorts ; 
and indeed it is to this day frequently posted up in Scotch taverns. In 
Italy the exact equivalent Chi rompe — paga” is frequently quoted by 
housekeepers to their servants, — the destructive tendencies of the latter, 
especially where china and glass-ware are concerned, being similar all 
over the world. But, of course, stories have grown up to explain the 
proverb and account for its origin. Two have been sent in by com- 
petitors. Both have the air of being manufactured after the event, but, 
even if both were true, the origin of the proverb could not be explained 
in this way. Here, however, are the stories : 

In 1476, Alfonso V., King of Portugal, came to Paris to solicit the aid of 
Louis XI. in recovering Castile, which Ferdinand, son of the King of Aragon, 
had wrested from him. Louis made arrangements to lodge the king in the 
mansion of Laurent Herbelot, a wealthy grocer, who had one of the most 
princely abodes in Paris. The mansion was put in thorough repair, and a 
glazier was summoned, who commenced to put in some panes of glass on the 
ground-floor. While he was at work, a passer-by knocked over the basket in 
which were the panes of glass, and broke several of them. Frightened, he ran 
away, but the glazier caught him, saying, “ Halt, my beauty : don’t run so fast. 
Settle your bill with me. Who breaks — pays.” — “ How much ?” — “ Fifteen cents 
a pane. You broke four.” The breaker paid sixty cents, and went on his way. 
The saying became very popular. Landlords took a fancy to it (drunkards break 
many panes), and posted on their doors, “ Who breaks — pays.” — Olive Old- 
school. 

Fleet Street, London, has long been celebrated for its taverns, which have 
been surrounded with a halo of associations derived from the wits and lawyers 
who frequented them in the early part of the last century. Not far from Temple 
Bar, and close by that famous resort known as “ The Devil,” was formerly a little 
two-storv building inclining very much to one side, and presenting a dingy brown 
face to the public. This house was the meeting-place of a class of men rather 


724 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 


more boisterous than the lawyers and literary characters who went to “The 
Devil” for refreshment, and their wild orgies startling the echoes of Fleet Street 
were the source of many complaints. 

The house was never known to have a sign until one morning,^ after a long 
and melancholy survey of his hopelessly dismembered furniture, its landlord, 
Levi Fleischman, appeared, and, with firm resolution expressed on his usually 
placid countenance, nailed up the sign which he had painfully manufactured 
during the small hours of the night. It was a rough imitation of the device of 
his neighbor, which represented St. Dunstan seizing the devil by the nose when 
he comes to tempt him during his work at the forge. Fleischman had elongated 
the tongue of Dunstan till it nearly resembled an ordinary spade, on which he 
had printed, in irregular characters, “ Who breaks — pays.” This sign attracted 
the attention of all Fleet Street, and was the occasion of many jokes at the ex- 
pense of the little Jew. It gradually came to be a byword among the wits and 
lawyers of that age. — Margery Daw. 

On the whole, as safe an answer as any is the following, by 

Davus’^ 

The original of this phrase is an old Italian proverb, “ Chi rompe — paga,” 
of which the English form is an exact and literal rendering. The abstract mean- 
ing of the expression is sufficiently obvious, denoting that he who offends must 
atone, — pay the penalty. It is an embodiment of the theory of retribution, and 
the inevitable triumph of Nemesis. In the French we have the parallel “ Us 
chantent — ils payeront” (“ They sing — they will pay ”), — ^the retort made by Car- 
dinal Mazarin when his attention was directed to the “ Mazarinades,” or popular 
songs written against him in Paris during the Fronde. In 1645 the people of 
Paris protested against certain taxes, and had been repressed by Mazarin in their 
efforts to reform these measures. They retaliated by writing and distributing 
satirical poems called “ Mazarinades,” which were sung on the streets. But 
they failed in their intent, as Mazarin remained perfectly calm and unmoved by 
an opposition which could exhaust itself in song, merely saying, “ S’ils chantent 
la canzonette, ils payeront,” — by which he meant. Let them sing their songs if 
they like ; it does not hurt me, and they will have to pay their taxes all the 
same. 

Another and hypothetical interpretation of the phrase “ Who breaks — pays” 
is suggested by the word pay. Brewer, in defining the meaning of the expression 
“ The devil to pay, and no pitch hot,” derives pay from the French payer, paix, 
poix, “ pitch,” Latin pix, — hence the phrase to “ pay ” or pitch the seams of a 
ship. This sort of paying is a kind of mending, — a uniting of the two edges of 
a seam which have become separated by wear or accident. Therefore, by substi- 
tuting pitch, or mend, for its equivalent pay, we have “ Who breaks — mends,” — 
or, he who fractures anything must mend, or put it together again. 

27. What is a tinker^ s damf 

A tinker’s dain is a wall of dough raised around a place which a plumber 
desires to flood with solder. An electrophorus (an instrument for generating 
induction by electricity) is thus formed. A vial, previously heated, is upset upon 
a circular plate with a turned-over edge. A circular dam of dough is raised 
around the lip, forming a wall to hold the soft solder, which holds the insulator 
to the plate. The material of this dam can be used only once ; and, being conse- 
quently thrown away as worthless after a very temporary period of usefulness, 
this device has passed into the proverb “Not worth a tinker’s dam,” which 
generally involves the addition of a profane n to the last word, and thus converts 
an otherwise innocent comparison into a phrase of quite another character. — 
Davus. 

At the close of the Revolutionary War the government called in all the 
Continental money. Many counterfeits were discovered, on each of which as 
received was stamped the word Dam, a contraction of damnaim, “ condemned.” 
The expression “Not worth a Continental dam” passed into proverbial use; but 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 


725 


in order to heighten the force or make worthlessness exaggerative (or perhaps on 
account of the parts of speech attributed to tinkers and sailors) the tinker was 
substituted. — M. A. 

28 . Whence the expression Comparisons are odious’^ f 

This phrase has a peculiar place and history in English literature. It 
occurs — 

1. In Dr. Donne (1573-1631), “She and comparisons are odious.’^ 

2. Robert Burton (1576-1639), “Anatomy of Melancholy,” pt. iii. sec. iii. 
Mem. i., sub. 2 : “ Comparisons are odious.” 

3. George Herbert (1593-1633) has it in his “Jacula Prudentum:” “Com- 
parisons are odious.” 

4. In the play “A Woman Killed with Kindness,” Act I. Sc. I., certainly 
written before 1603. 

5. In “ Sir Giles Goosecappe,” a comedy certainly written before 1606 : 

“ By heavens, a most edible capariso. 

Odious, thou wouldst say ; for comparisos are odious.” 

6. “ Much Ado about Nothing,” Act III. Sc. V. : “ Comparisons are odorom.” 

These references are all so nearly the same time that they suggest a previous 

origin that must have been well known and popular. That origin we find in 
Lyly’s “ Euphues,” published in 1579, where, after comparing Livia and Lu cilia, 
the author says, “But least comparisons should seeme odious,” etc. Robert 
Greene, in “ Manilia,” first published in 1583, says, “ I will not make compari- 
sons, because they be odious.” Greene was an imitator of Lyly, and probably 
copied the phrase from him. This is as far as the phrase seems traceable in the 
English language. The quotation from “ Sir Giles Goosecappe” suggests a Span- 
ish source; besides, Shakespeare’s use of the word is connected with Spanish 
words : “ Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neighbor Verges.” So we go to the 
Spanish first of all, where we find it in Cervantes’ “ Don Quixote,” Bk. VI. cap. 
xxiii. : “ Ya sabe que toda comparacion es odiosa.” As the second volume of 
“ Don Quixote” was published about fifteen years later than “ Much Ado about 
Nothing,” this proves nothing but a probably proverbial source : so let us refer 
to the proverbs. In the Dictionary of Proverbs of the Spanish Academy we find 
it “ Toda comparacion es odiosa.” Referring to other languages, we find it in 
two languages, — the French, “ Comparaisons sont odieuses,” and the Italian, “ I 
paragoni son tutti odiosi.” We also find the phrase in Bojardo’s “Orlando 
Innamorato” (Bojardo lived 1434-1494), in cap. vi. 4, as follows : “ Ma le com- 
parazion son tutte odiose.” But some critics are very positive in saying that the 
first four stanzas of chapter vi. are of later origin. This, therefore, proves nothing. 
In the “ Polyglot of Proverbs” we find another form, “ Toute comparaison est 
odieuse.” Finally, Leroux de Lincy, in “Le Livre des Proverbes francais,” 
vol. i. p. 276, says that in a manuscript collection of proverbs of the thirteenth 
century he found these : “ Comparaisons sont haineuses “ Comparaison n’est 
pas raison.” I am not able to find any earlier history of the phrase. — Bibota. 

29 . Who was Soapy Sand^ f 

“ Soapy Sam” was a sobriquet of Samuel Wilberforce, Bishop of Oxford and 
afterwards of Winchester. The origin of the name is said to be this: The 
students of Cuddesden College, wishing to celebrate both the bishop and their 
Principal, Alfred Pott, on some festive occasion, placed on one pillar the initials 
S. O. (for Samuel of Oxford) and on another A. P. The combination was taken 
up in a satiric spirit, and the bishop himself said that it was owing to the alliter- 
ation with his unfortunate Christian name. 

The slang meaning of “ soapy,” “ flattering and wheedling,” was supposed 
to give peculiar appropriateness to its application to the “ Bishop of Society,” as 
he was called. The London Quarterly calls him “ too persuasive, too fascinating 
in manner, too fertile in expedients, thus furnishing some with pleas for suspect- 
ing him of insincerity; he was too facile, too fond of being all things to all men, 


726 


OUR ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS. 


sometimes allowing practices that he afterwards saw he should at first have con- 
demned, and committing himself through versatility and large-heartedness.” 

On the other hand, the Fortnightly says the sobriquet was not deserved by 
one in whose “ natural, cheerful, persuasive charm” there was “ no apparent in- 
sincerity,” and quotes an explanation of the term given by a friend of the bishop : 
“ The name was given to Wilberforce because he was always in hot water, and 
always came out with clean hands.” 

On one occasion Lord- Chancellor Westbury, speaking in the House of 
Lords of the judgment of Convocation, of which Wilberforce was chairman, on 
the essays by Dr. Williams and Mr. Wilson, said the judgment was “no judg- 
ment at all, and was conveyed in words so slippery, so oily, so saponaceous, that 
they could hold nothing and injure nobody.” At this allusion to the bishop’s 
well-known nickname, a thrill of indignation ran through the House, and the 
sympathy was evidently with Wilberforce, who replied to the charge in a dig- 
nified and becoming manner. — OifE of a Thousand. 

30. When and where did visiting-cards originate f 

As is the case in many other instances, we owe this invention to the Chinese. 
So long ago as the period of the Tong dynasty (618-907), visiting-cards were 
known to be in common use in China, and that is also the date of the introduc- 
tion of the “ red silken cords” which figure so conspicuously on the engagement- 
cards of that country. From very ancient times to the present day the Chinese 
have observed the strictest ceremony with regard to the paying of visits. The 
cards which they use for this purpose are very large, and usually of a bright red 
color. When a Chinaman desires to marry, his parents intimate that fact to the 
professional “ match -maker,” who thereupon runs through the list of her visiting 
acquaintances, and selects one whom she considers a fitting bride for the young 
man ; and then she calls upon the young woman’s parents, armed with the bride- 
groom’s card, on which are inscribed his ancestral name and the eight symbols 
which denote the date of his birth. If the answer is an acceptance of his suit, 
the bride’s card is sent in return ; and should the oracles prophesy good con- 
cerning the union, the particulars of the engagement are written on two large 
cards, and these are tied together with the red cords. 

In England, in the early part of last century, old plajdng-cards were often 
utilized for visiting purposes by writing the owner’s name thereon, as may be seen 
in Plate IV. of Hogarth’s “ Marriage a la Mode,” where several of these cards are 
lying on the floor. On one of them the painter has satirized the ignorance of the 
upper classes of the time by inscribing on it, “ Count Basset begs to no how Lade 
Squander sleapt last nite.” In the eighteenth century, on the Continent, visiting- 
cards were a matter of taste and art. The society of Vienna, Dresden, and 
Berlin piqued itself upon delicacy of taste, and instead of our insipid card, with 
the name and quality of the visitor inscribed upon it, it distributed real souvenirs, 
charming vignettes, some of which are models of composition and engraving. 
The greatest artists — Casanova, Fischer, and Baritsch — did not disdain to please 
fashionable people by designing the pretty things that Eaphael Mengs engraved. 
About four or five hundred of these cards have been collected by M. Piogey, 
among which we meet with some of the greatest names of the age. The fancy 
for these elegancies was doubtless borrowed from Paris, as we find there a whole 
generation of designers and ornamenters who devoted their graving-tools entirely 
to visiting-cards and addresses for the fashionable world. — Davus. 

J. Doran, in his “ Habits and Men” (3d ed., p. 121), says, “ It was in Paris 
about 1770 that was introduced the custom of visiting en blanc, as it was called, — 
i.e., by leaving a card. The old ladies and gentlemen who loved to show their 
costumes called this fashion fantastic.” His authority for this was the Baroness 
Oberkirch, who speaks of the subject in her memoirs, and he also refers to an 
allusion made to this custom by Mercier in his “ Tableau de Paris.” 

Mrs. St. George writes in her journal (p. 8), under date November 16, 1799, 
Hanover, “At 6 Mad. de Busche called to take me to pay my visits. We only 
dropped tickets,” etc. Under date March 28, 1800, Vienna, “ The multiplicity 
of visits, not confined to leaving a card, as in London, but real substantial and 


THE BLUE FLOWER. 


727 


bodily visits and the impossibility, without overstepping all the bounds of 
custom, of associating with any but the noblesse^ may be reckpned among the 
greatest obstacles. 

“ Ticket” was at the beginning of the century used for “visiting-card,” as is 
seen in Miss Austen’s “Northanger Abbey” and Miss Edgeworth’s “Absentee.” 
Indian servants always use the term to this day. 

Some years ago a house in Dean Street, Soho, was repaired, and on removing 
a marble chimney-piece in the front drawing-room four or five playing-cards 
were found, on the back of which names were written, one being Sir Isaac New- 
ton’s. The house had been the residence of either Hogarth or his father-in-law. 
It has been conjectured that these playing-cards were used as visiting-cards ; but 
it is rather doubtful whether the philosopher would have employed them. In 
Hogarth’s (1698-1764) “ Marriage a la Mode,” Plate IV., we have an example 
of visiting-cards being used for this purpose during the middle of the last cen- 
tury. Several are lying on the floor in the right-hand corner of the picture. One 
is inscribed, “ Count Basset begs to no how Lade Squander sleapt last nite.” 

Pictorial visiting-cards were common in the last part of the eighteenth cen- 
tury. Canova’s represented a block of marble rough-hewn from the quarry, 
drawn in perspective; “A. Canova” was inscribed upon this in large Koman 
capitals. (Canova b. 1757, d. 1822.) On the visiting-card of the Misses Berry 
were two nymphs in classic drapery, pointing to a weed-grown slab engraved 
“Miss Berry,” lik"? a tombstone. One nymph leads a lamb by a ribbon, to typify 

Agnes Berry. (Mary Berry b. 1762, d. 1852. Agnes Berry b. , d. 1851.) — 

One of a Thousand. 

31. Whence the proverb There* s many a slip Hwixt the cup and the 

Up** f 

In one form or other this proverb may be found in the folk-sayings 
of most European countries, and it was current among the Latins and 
the Greeks. Lycophron tells this story of its origin. Ancseus, son of 
Poseidon and Alta, w^as a king of the Leleges in Samos, who took 
especial pleasure in the cultivation of the grape and prided himself 
upon his numerous vineyards. In his eagerness he unmercifully over- 
taxed the slaves who worked there. A seer announced that for his 
cruelty he would not live to taste the wine from his grapes. The 
harvest passed safely, and then the wine-making, and Ancseus, holding 
in his hand a cup containing the first ruby drops, mocked at the seer’s 
prophecy. But the prophet replied, Many things happen between 
the cup and the lip.” Just then a cry was raised that a wild boar had 
broken into the vineyard, and the king, setting down his untasted cup, 
hurried off to direct the chase, but was himself slain by the boar. 

The question was answered correctly by almost every one of our 
correspondents. 


THE BLUE FLOWER. 

T he blue flower haunted my dreams, and I longed with a passionate 
pain, 

With a wild young heart and a bounding pulse, that mystic flower to 
gain ; 

But the years rolled by in a hopeless quest, till at length, grown wan 
and old, 

In a palsied hand I clasped the flower to a heart that was still and cold. 

Wilson K. Welsh. 


VoL. XLIL— 47 


728 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


I 

“ I AM not,” says Mr. Lowell, in his excellent essay “ On a Certain Conde- 
scension in Foreigners,” — “ I am not, I think, specially thin-skinned as to other 
people’s opinions of myself, having, as I conceive, later and fuller intelligence 
on that point than anybody else can give me. Life is continually weighing us in 
very sensitive scales, and telling every one of us precisely what his real weight 
is, to the last grain of dust. Whoever at fifty does not rate himself quite as low 
as most of his acquaintances would be likely to put him, must be either a fool 
or a great man ; and I humbly disclaim being either.” 

But it was long before he was fifty that Lowell wrote this skit upon him- 
self in the “ Fable for Critics :” 

There is Lowell, who's stririog Parnassus to climb 
With a whole bale of iama tied together with rhyme. 

He might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders, 

But he can't with that bundle he has on his shoulders. 

The top of the hill he will ne’er come nigh reaching 
Till he learns the distinction 'twixt singing and preaching. 

His lyre has some chords that would ring pretty well. 

But he’d rather by half make a drum of the shell. 

And rattle away till he's old as Methusalem, 

At the head of a march to the last new Jerusalem. 

This is as neat a bit of criticism on Lowell as could be expected in a brochure 
whose aim was professedly humorous. 

Another famous American author who has shown rare powers of self-criticism 
is Nathaniel Hawthorne. The preface to “ Twice-Told Tales” is a wonderful 
production in this line, but is too well known to be quoted here. A sort of 
preface affixed to Kappaccini’s Daughter” when that weird story was originally 
published in the Democratic Review has been included in only a few editions of 
Hawthorne’s works, and may therefore be new to many readers. “ Eappaccini’s 
Daughter,” it was feigned, was a translation from a French writer named 
Aub6pine (the French for “hawthorn”), and the pretended translator thus 
introduced his author to the American public : 

*‘THE WRITINGS OF AUBEPINE. 

“ We do not remember to have seen any translated specimens of the pro- 
ductions of M. de I’Aub^pine, — a fact the less to be wondered at, as his very 
name is unknown to many of his own countrymen as well as to the student of 
foreign literature. As a writer he seems to occupy an unfortunate position 
between the Transcendentalists (who, under one name or another, have their 
share in all the current literature of the world) and the great body of pen-and- 
ink men who address the intellect and sympathies of the multitude. If not too 
refined, at all events too remote, too shadowy and unsubstantial in his modes of 
development to suit the tastes of the latter class, and yet too popular to satisfy 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


729 


the spiritual or metaphysical requisitions of the former, he must necessarily find 
himself without an audience, except here and there an individual, or possibly 
an isolated clique. His writings, to do them justice, are not altogether destitute 
of fancy and originality : they might have won him greater reputation but for 
an inveterate love of allegory, which is apt to invest his plots and characters 
with the aspect of scenery and people in the clouds, and to steal away the human 
warmth out of his conceptions. His fictions are sometimes historical, sometimes 
of the present day, and sometimes, so far as can be discovered, have little or no 
reference either to time or space. In any case he generally contents himself 
with a very slight embroidery of outward manners, — the faintest possible coun- 
terfeit of real life, — and endeavors to create an interest by some less obvious 
peculiarity of the subject. Occasionally a breath of nature, a rain-drop of pathos 
and tenderness, or a gleam of humor, will find its way into the midst of his 
fantastic imagery, and make us feel as if, after all, we were yet within the limits 
of our native earth. We will only add to this very cursory notice that M. de 
rAub4pine’s productions, if the reader chance to take them in precisely the proper 
point of view, may amuse a leisure hour as well as those of a brighter man; if 
otherwise, they can hardly fail to look excessively like nonsense.’* 

Many years afterwards, in a letter to Mr. Fields, dated from the Liverpool 
consulate, April 13, 1854, and concerning a new edition of the “ Mosses from an 
Old Manse,” Hawthorne says, — 

“ When I wrote those dreamy sketches, I little thought that' I should ever 
preface an edition for the press amidst the bustling life of a Liverpool consulate. 
Upon my honor, I am not quite sure that I entirely comprehend my own meaning 
in some of these blasted allegories; but I remember that I always had a meaning, 
or at least thought I had. I am a good deal changed since those times, and, to 
tell you the truth, my past self is not very much to my taste, as I see myself in 
this book. Yet certainly there is more in it than the public generally gave me 
credit for at the time it was written. But I don’t think myself worthy of very 
much more credit than I got. It has been a very disagreeable task to read the 
book.” 

One curious misjudgment of Hawthorne’s was in placing “ The House of 
the Seven Gables” above “ The Scarlet Letter.” Being better (which I insist 
it is) than * The Scarlet Letter,’ I have never expected it to be so popular.” 
(Letter to Fields, May 23, 1851.) “The Marble Faun” he called “ an audacious 
attempt to impose a tissue of absurdities upon the public by the mere art of 
style of narrative ;” and in reference to the same book he says, “ It is odd enough 
that my own individual taste is for quite another class of works than those which 
I myself am able to write. If I were to meet with such books as mine, by 
another writer, I don’t believe I should be able to get through them.” 

There is a sturdy and splendid truthfulness in all Goethe’s self-criticisms : 
the praise is as genuine and unembarrassed as if he were speaking of something 
entirely foreign. His “ Conversations,” as jotted down by Eckermann, are full 
of the most interesting and instructive criticisms on his own writings. Of 
“Gotz von Berlichingen” he says, “I wrote it as a young man of two-and- 
twenty, and was astonished, ten years after, at the truth of my delineation. It 
is obvious that I had not experienced or seen anything of the kind, and therefore 
I must have acquired the knowledge of various human conditions by way of 
anticipation.” “ * Werther,’ ” he told Eckermann, “ is a creation which I, like 


730 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


the pelican, fed with the blood of my own heart. ... I have only read the book 
once since its appearance, and have taken good care not to read it again. It is a 
mass of Congreve rockets. I am uncomfortable when I look at it; and I dread 
lest I should once more experience the peculiar mental state from which it 
was evolved.’^ To a young Englishman who had read with great delight both 
“ Tasso” and “ Egmont,” but found “ Faust” somewhat difiBcult, Goethe laugh- 
ingly said, “ I would not have advised you to undertake ‘ Faust.’ It is mad 
stuff, and goes quite beyond all ordinary feeling. But since you have done it 
of your own accord, without asking my advice, you will see how you will get 
through. Faust is so strange an individual that only few can sympathize with 
his internal condition. Then the character of Mephistopheles is, on account of 
his irony, and because he is a living result of an extensive acquaintance with the 
world, also very difl&cult. But you will see what lights open upon you. ‘ Tasso,’ 
on the other hand, lies far nearer the common feelings of mankind, and the 
elaboration of its form is favorable to an easy comprehension of it.” 

“ Wilhelm Meister” Goethe thought was “ one of the most uncalculable pro- 
ductions. I myself can scarcely be said to have the key to it. People seek a 
central point, and that is hard, and not even right. I should think a rich, 
manifold life, brought close to our eyes, would be enough in itself, without any 
express tendency, which, after all, is only for the intellect. But if anything of 
the sort is insisted upon, it will be found perhaps in the words which Frederic, 
at the end, addresses to the hero, when he says, ‘ Thou seemest to me like Saul, 
the son of Kish, who went out to seek his father’s asses, and found a kingdom.’ 
Keep only to this, for in fact the whole work seems to say nothing more than 
that man, despite all his follies and errors, being led by a higher hand, reaches 
some happy goal at last.” 

Many of the poet’s contemporaries were wont to speak of Tieck as a rival in 
intellect.. Here is the way in which Goethe disposes of this comparison : “ Tieck 
is a talent of great importance, and no one can be more sensible than myself of 
his extraordinary merits ; but when they raise him above himself and place him 
on a level with me they are in error. I can speak this out plainly; it matters 
nothing to me, for I did not make myself. I might just as well compare myself 
with Shakespeare, who likewise did not make himself, and who is nevertheless 
a being of a higher order, to whom I must look up with reverence.” 

Heine was another German who was gracious enough to acknowledge his 
inferiority to Shakespeare. “ But with Byron,” he insisted, “ I feel like an 
equal.” On the other hand, Wordsworth, it will be remembered, said that he 
could write like Shakespeare if he had a mind to, — which brought out one of 
Lamb’s most famous retorts : “ So, you see, it’s the mind that’s wanting.” 

There was a stubborn self-reliance in Wordsworth’s nature which led him 
to face detraction with a calm conviction of its injustice. Carlyle noticed this 
trait in his “ Reminiscences.” 

In 1807 he wrote thus to Lady Beaumont: “Make yourself, my dear friend, 
as easy-hearted as myself with respect to these poems. Trouble not yourself 
with their present reception ; of what moment is that, compared with what I 
trust is their destiny? To console the afflicted, to add sunshine to daylight by 
making, the happy happier, to teach the young and the gracious of every age to 
see, to think, and feel, and therefore to become more actively and seriously 
virtuous,— this is their offlce, which I trust they will faithfully perform long after 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


731 


we (that is, all that is mortal of us) are mouldered in our graves.” Again he 
says, Be assured that the decision of these persons [i.e., “ the London wits and 
witlings”] has nothing to do with the question ; they are altogether incompetent 
judges. . . . My ears are stone-deaf to this idle buzz, and my flesh as insensible 
as iron to these petty stings ; and after what I have said I am sure yours will be 
the same. I doubt not that you will share with me an invincible confidence 
that my writings (and among them these little poems) will co-operate with the 
benign tendencies in human nature and society, wherever found, and that they 
will in their degree be efficacious in making men wiser, better, and happier.” 

Southey, with far less reason than Wordsworth, had an equally exalted 
opinion of his own powers, an equally confident expectation that posterity would 
rank him among the great poets of the world. “ I shall be read by posterity,” 
he asserted, “ if I am not read now ; read with Milton and Virgil and Dante 
when j^oets whose works are now selling by thousands are only known through 
a biographical dictionary.” And again, “ Die when I may, my monument is 
made. Senhora, that I shall one day have a monument in St. Paul’s is more 
certain than I should choose to say to every one ; but it was a strange feeling 
which I had when I was last in St. Paul’s and thought so. How think you I 
shall look in marble?” And still again, “One overwhelming principle has 
formed my destiny and marred all prospects of rank and wealth ; but it has made 
me happy, and it will make me immortal.” 

Poor Southey I The monument in St. Paul’s he has indeed obtained, and 
he looks well in marble. But his books are fast fading out of the minds even of 
reading men. 

Perhaps Porson was right. When Southey was once speaking of himself in 
this same strain of self-laudation, Porson said, “ I will tell you, sir, what I think 
of your poetical works : they will be read when Shakespeare’s and Milton’s are 
forgotten,” — adding, after a pause, “ but not till then.” 

Landor was content to leave his works to the judgment of posterity, and w'as 
sure that that judgment would be favorable. “ I shall dine late,” he says, “ but 
the dining-room will be well lighted, the guests few and select.” 

Milton, from early youth, was confident that he could produce something 
which “ the world would not willingly let die.” In the touching sonnet on the 
loss of his eyes he rejoices that he 


Lost them overplied 
In liberty’s defence, my noble task, 

Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 

Shakespeare writes in one of his sonnets, — 

Not marble nor the gilded monuments 
Of princes shall outlive this lofty rhyme, — 

which seems to be a reminiscence of Horace’s splendid piece of braggadocio, — 


I have built a monument, 

A monument more lasting than bronze. 
Soaring more high than regal pyramids. 
Which neither the roaring rain-drops 
Nor the vain rush of Boreas shall destroy. 


732 


OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. 


Many of the classic authors, indeed, had an excellent opinion of themselves. 
Ovid says, — 

And when I am dead and gone, 

Mj corpse laid under a stone. 

My fame shall yet survive. 

And I shall be alive; 

In these my works, forever. 

My glory shall persever. 

Cicero justified his own egregious vanity by saying “ there was never yet a 
true poet or orator that thought any one better than himself.” There is no more 
famous piece of egotism than his “ O fortunatam natam me consule Romam.” 
Xenophon, speaking of himself in the third person in his “ Anabasis,” says that 
he was “ as eminent among the Greeks for eloquence as Alexander was for arms.” 

Classical scholars seem to have been infected with all the vanity of classical 
authors. Richard Bentley always wrote and acted as if he considered a great 
scholar the greatest of men. In his edition of Horace he describes the ideal 
critic, and evidently sits for the portrait himself. When some self-suflBcient 
young person suggested to Richard Porson that they should write a book 
together, Porson replied, with magnificent scorn, “ Put in it all I know and all 
you don’t know, and it will be a great work.” This recalls the anecdote of 
an earlier scholar, Salmasius, the great opponent of Milton. Conversing one 
day in the royal library with Gaulmin and Maussac, the latter said, “ I think we 
three can match our heads against all there is learned in Europe.” Salmasius 
quickly replied, “Add to all there is learned in Europe yourself and M. de 
Maussac, and I can match my single head against the whole of you.” If in 
scholarship Samuel Parr was not the equal of the others, his vanity was quite 
as remarkable. “ Shepherd,” he once said to one of his friends, “ the age of 
great scholars is past. I am the only one now remaining of that race of men.” 

And there is exquisite humor of the unconscious sort in Parr’s reported 
saying, “ The first Greek scholar is Porson ; the thir^ is Dr. Burney ; modesty 
forbids me to mention who is the second.” 

Bufibn did not allow modesty to forbid his mentioning that “of great 
geniuses of modern times there are but five, — Newton, Bacon, Leibnitz, Mon- 
tesquieu, and Bufibn.” Nor did William Cobbett let any false shame stand in 
the way of his telling the Bishop of Winchester, “ I am your superior. I have 
ten times your talent, and a thousand times your industry and zeal.” 

What is the Tree of Guernica ? A. B. G. 

The Tree of Guernica [Basque, Guernicaco Arbola] is the tree of the Basque 
liberties, close to the town of Guernica, in Biscay. This symbolical tree dates 
back to the origin of Biscayan society. 

The lords of Biscay took their oaths on a stone bench placed at its foot. 
The general juntas are inaugurated here, and are continued in the adjoining 
juridical church of Santa Maria la Antigua. It is perpetuated like the Euska- 
rian family, and is succeeded by its scions. The present tree is nearly a century 
old, since it was thirty years old when its predecessor, in 1811 , fell down under 
the weight of over three hundred years. The tree which is to substitute the 
present one was planted a few years ago. Several patriotic songs are dedicated 
to the tree. Rousseau sent it his blessing, and Tallien saluted it in the midst of 
the French Convention. 


BOOK-TALK. 


733 


BOOK-TALK. 


T here are men of education, culture, and intelligence — men like Lessing, 
Johnson, Coleridge, — even the myriad-minded Goethe himself— to whom 
music makes no appeal. They might enter an opera- or a concert-house, and, 
while the waves of harmony fused an average audience into one vast unison of 
delight, they would remain unmoved, some of them even scornfully quiescent. 
“ Music is the least unpleasant of noises,” was Ursa Major’s disdainful definition. 
Paintings and sculpture wearied Scott and Byron ; Hawthorne and Howells have 
confessed their inability to appreciate the acknowledged masterpieces of Italian 
art. The world, in its present temper, would condemn their opinions as wrong 
and persist in the orthodox admirations. But when you sink below the level of 
the average audience, the critic who indiscriminately damns the things which 
appeal to the partially washed and the wholly uneducated is upheld by the culti- 
vated world. A man of education who goes into a Bowery theatre and finds an 
audience moved to laughter or to tears over some cheap melodrama, or who reads 
the New York Ledger and similar sheets, is applauded for refusing to see any- 
thing in drama or novel, and for thinking contemptuously of the audience to 
whom they appeal. Yet no mere average intelligence or ordinary education 
could produce a work that goes straight to the hearts of a crowd or a mob. 
There must be some insight into human nature, some sympathetic magnetism, 
some real vitalizing power, in a man who can focus the emotions of a thousand 
souls. And if the cultivated by-stander fails to see where that power resides, 
there must be something wanting in his mental furnishment, as there was some- 
thing wanting in the mental furnishment of the great men whom we have named 

There has recently been a revival of interest in the works of two of the 
most popular of America’s blood-and-thunder feuilletonistes , — Sylvanus Cobb, 
Jr., and Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. The Reviewer has conscientiously read 
through two of their representative works, — “The Gun-Maker of Moscow,” by 
the former, and “Tried for her Life,” by the latter. In previous issues of this 
magazine he has humbly confessed to many deficiencies. He is only adding 
another to the list when he owns himself baffled by the overwhelming popularity 
of these authors, owns himself unable to diflerentiate between them and the 
ordinary dime novelists, to recognize the relative rank of captain and subaltern. 
Captain and subaltern alike seem to him to have the same faults, the same 
virtues. There are the same lapses in English, in knowledge, in good taste, the 
same fine language, the same glaringly vivid coloring, the same exaggeration, 
the same startling accidents and transitions, the same rush and dash of impossible 
incidents. Yet, no doubt, to their admirers Cobb and Southworth are- as far 
superior to the ordinary dime novelist as Scott is to G. P. R. James, — as gold is 
to tinsel. Ah, well ! everything is relative in this world. Perhaps to the angelic 
intellect Scott seems as absurd as Cobb. 

As between “ The Gun-Maker of Moscow” and “ Tried for her Life” the 
Reviewer might give the preference to the former, because it is shorter; but 


734 


BOOK-TALK. 


then that shows no critical acumen. Mrs. Southworth becomes somnolescent ; 
Cobb is always sufficiently absurd to keep you wide awake. As the title indicates, 
the scene of Cobb’s novel is laid in Moscow. Cobb knows that the Kremlin is 
in Moscow, he knows very little more. There is no local color. The very names 
sound strange to ears that have been familiarized with Tourgenief and Tolstoi. 
The Gun-maker starts in life as Ruric Nevel, he ends as Sir Ruric, Duke of 
Tula. Be these Russian names and Russian titles? one inquires. Peter the 
Great figures as the Deus ex machina. Cobb’s Peter is not drawn after the his- 
torical Peter, but with a faint reminiscence of the Haroun A1 Raschid of the 
“Arabian Nights.” As to Mrs. Southworth, her plot is hackneyed, her style 
cannot be commended, and her characters are drawn with the fear of the second 
commandment before her eyes, — they resemble nothing in the earth below, in 
the heavens above, or in the waters under the earth. 

These books are unexceptionably moral. Is that the secret of their power? 
No : because every dime novel, every melodrama, is equally moral, or it would 
fail to reach the corporate conscience. The corporate conscience is a curious 
thing. Go to the lowest theatre in any of our large cities, or, if your sex or 
respectability forbids this, mark what is called the “ Family Circle” by theatre- 
proprietors and to the general w’orld is more felicitously known as the “ Peanut 
Gallery.” There may be excellent people here, — the heroic boot-black, the 
poor but proud news-boy, — there is also sure to be a fair allowance of thieves, 
knaves, adulterers, and other criminals, whose like it is well known are not to be 
found in the exalted circles wdiere Lippincott numbers its subscribers. Well, the 
thieves, the knaves, the adulterers, have no sympathy for thievery, knavery, 
adultery, when unfolded before them on the stage. They are madly delighted 
when crime is punished, when virtue is rewarded, when the thief is arrested, 
the knave exposed, the seducer foiled, — when the noble and suffering hero is at 
last joined to the noble and suffering heroine. The great heart of humanity is 
sound and true, though there may be skin-diseases on the surface. Men are 
better than they seem. . * 

The following books have been received from their respective publishers : 

Cassell & Co. : “ The Brownstone Boy, and other Queer People,” by William 
Henry Bishop, a collection of clever stories by one of the cleverest of American 
short-story-tellers: “A Little Dinner” is an especially amusing trifle. “Odds 
against Her,” by Margaret Russell McFarlane, which reads like one of Mrs. 
Wister’s translations from the German, and is none the worse for that. “ Be- 
witched,” by Louis Pendleton, a novel with a romantic and startling plot. “ My 
Aunt’s Matchmaking, and other Stories by Popular Authors,” apparently made 
up from the pages of Cassell’s Magazine. 

Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. : “ Summer Legends,” by Rudolph Baumbach, 
translated by Helen B. Dole, a volume of charming little fairy-tales. “ At Home 
and in War, 1853-1881,” a series of reminiscences and anecdotes, by Alexander 
Verestchagin, translated by Isabel F. Hapgood. A new translation of Hugo’s 
“ Notre Dame,” in tw^o handsome volumes, profusely illustrated, and, in uniform 
style, a new translation of “ The Toilers of the Sea,” from the same hand. “ Tax- 
ation in American States and Cities,” by Richard T. Ely, assisted by John H. 
Finley, a thick octavo volume showing great industry and research and a habit 


BOOK-TALK. 


735 


\ 

of close reasoning. “ Problems of To-Day, a Discussion of Protective Tariffs, 
Taxation, and Monopolies,” by Richard T. Ely, an excellent summary of free- 
trade doctrines. 


J. B. Lippincoit Co. : “ Animal Life of our Sea-Shore, with Special Reference 
to the New Jersey Coast and the Southern Shore of Long Island,” by Angelo T. 
Heilprin, an excellent little treatise, written in an easy and popular style, yet at 
the same time giving the latest results of science and observation. The book is 
illustrated with a large number of cuts, which lend interest and understanding to 
the text. “ The Hon. Mrs. Vereker,” by the “ Duchess,” “ A Devout Lover,” by 
Mrs. H. Lovett-Cameron, and “ Benedicta,” by Mrs. Alfred Phillips, three new 
novels in “ Lippincott’s Series of Select Novels,” — all good of their kind, and the 
kind one that would commend them to that large and excellent class of people 
who read for amusement and not necessarily for instruction. “ Laconisms, 
The Wisdom of Many in the Words of One,” by J. M. P. Otts, D.D., LL.D., 
which the author describes as “ the result of the study of men and books for 
many years.” We open the book at random and come upon such sayings as 
“ The prayer-meeting is more than a meeting-house of people to pray ; it is the 
meeting of their prayers,” and “ Thought issues from the mind as a stream from 
its fountain. Water cannot rise higher than the level of its source. It seems 
to me that the thought of immortality could not spring up in a mind not im- 
mortal.” We read these sentences with a certain amusement, wondering whether 
they are a fair sample of the whole book, and we go on reading and find nothing 
either brighter or more novel. 

D. C. Heath & Co. : Nature Readers. Seaside and Wayside. Nos. 1 and 
2.” By Julia McNair Wright. A series adapted to the use of beginners in 
reading, with the idea “ that facts of real and permanent value may be made 
known, a noble taste may be cultivated, thought may be developed, and the in- 
itiatory steps in an increasingly popular study may be taken, while a child is 
learning to read a certain number of English words.” The idea is not a bad 
one, and is not badly carried out. “ Composition and Rhetoric by Practice, with 
Exercises adapted for Use in Higb Schools and Colleges,” by William Williams, 
B.A., a book of great pretensions but lesser performance. “Selected Poems 
from Lamartine’s Meditations” edited with a biographical sketch and notes that 
are helpful and instructive, but a little too noisy in their enthusiasm. “ Practical 
Lessons in the Use of English for Grammar-Schools,” by Mary F. Hyde, safe 
and harmless. “ Exercises in English, Accidence, Syntax, and Style, carefully 
selected and classified for Criticism or Correction,” by H. I. Strang ; a useful 
companion to the teacher. 

William S. Gottsberger : “ Poems,” by Rose Terry Cook, a collection in book- 
form of the excellent poems which this writer has contributed to periodicals. 
“ From Lands of Exile,” by Pierre Loti, translated from the French by Clara 
Bell, a series of sketches of travel along the coast of Asia, full of a dreamy and 
poetic beauty. “ Pictures of Hellas : Five Tales of Ancient Greece,” by Peder 
Mariagor, translated from the Danish by Mary J. Safford, which are not only in- 
teresting in themselves, but very successfully reproduce the spirit and thought 
of ancient times without any trace of pedantry. 


EVERY DAY’S RECORD 


NOVEMBER. 


N OVEMBER had thirty days in the origi- 
nal Roman calendar, but was subse- 
quently given thirty-one by Julius Caesar, 
and reduced again to thirty by Augustus. 
Its name signifies the ninth month, which 
position it occupied in the ten-month 
year of Romulus, the name being retained 
when two additional months were added. 
Tiberius, the Roman emperor, was born 
in November, and the senate wished to 
give the month his name, in imitation of 
those named after Julius and Augustus; 
but he declined the honor, saying, “ What 
will you do, conscript fathers, if you have 
thirteen Caesars?” 

^^ovember was one of the most im- 
portant of the months in connection with 
the religious ritual of the Romans, as it 
has been since with the Roman Catholic 
ritual. The Saxons knew it as Wint- 
monat^ or the wind-month, and also as 
BLot-monat, the bloody month, in conse- 
quence either of the sacrifices then per- 
formed or of the custom of slaughtering 
then the cattle for their winter supply of 
meat. This food-store was long known 
as Martinmas beef. 

November brings us to the threshold 
of the winter. Summer has vanished with 
its flowery train, and with much of the 
multitudinous life that gave such variety 
to its verdant landscapes. Of the living 
creatures that remain, the burrowing mul- 
titude are yet busily at work laying in 
their winter stores of nuts and other food, 
while the tardy representatives of the 
winged creation are flying in all haste 
southward, leaving behind only those 
hardy birds that find no terrors in the 
falling snow. The trees have shed their 
last leaves, with the exception of the 
dense-foliaged evergreens, which keep for 
us throughout the winter some faint sem- 
blance of the summer’s leafy charm. Na- 
ture seems to have stripped herself for her 
annual battle with the armies of the frost- 
king. 

Yet a delightful calm precedes the 

736 


coming storm. November comes to us 
clad in the charming cloak of the Indian 
Summer, which rests upon the earth like 
a flowerless shadow of the flown summer. 
Its clear skies and dry and bracing air 
make the blood bound through the veins 
and the heart beat high with the pure 
delight of living. On the far horizon 
rests a dimming haze, which has long 
served as the characteristic feature of this 
season, though it has in great measure 
vanished with the annual burning by the 
Indians of the prairie-grass, to which it 
seems to have been due. A similar sea- 
son exists in Europe, where it has re- 
ceived the name of St. Martin’s Sum- 
mer. 

In late November winter sometimes 
comes upon us with a shivering swoop, de- 
scending in chilling winds and blinding 
showers of snow. But oftener the au- 
tumnal mildness lasts through the month, 
and makes its end a fitting time for that 
grateful Thanksgiving festival which, in- 
stituted by the Pilgrims on their first 
landing in this country, and long con- 
fined to New England, has now become 
a festival of the entire country. No 
time could have been more aptly chosen 
for giving thanks to the Giver of all good 
gifts. The anxious labor of the harvest is 
at an end, and the largess of the land is 
safely stored in barn and granary, yet the 
shadow of the vanished summer kill trails 
across the resting fields, while of the har- 
vesters there are few that have not received 
some of nature’s bountiful gifts. Thanks- 
giving Day was long the especial feast- 
day of New England, as Christmas was of 
the States farther south, and this festive 
feature has accompanied it in its progress 
through the land, making it everywhere 
a fitting prelude to the merry Christmas 
season. Nor is this in any sense amiss, 
since only by enjoyment of the good cheer 
of the earth can we properly return thanks 
for the bounty of the fields to the benefi- 
cent “ Lord of the Harvest.” 


EVERY DAY'S RECORD. 


737 


EVENTS. 


Novem'ber 1. 

607. All Saints’ Day. The church 
festival under this name originated about 
the year 607, on the occasion of the con- 
version of the ancient Eoman temple 
known as the Pantheon into a Christian 
church. This noble edifice, which had 
been originally the temple of all the gods, 
was dedicated by Pope Boniface I. to the 
Virgin and all the martyrs. The anni- 
versary of this event was at first celebrated 
on May 1, but was afterwards changed 
to November 1, when it became known 
as the Feast of All Saints, and was set 
apart as a day of general commemora- 
tion in their honor. The festival has 
been adopted by the Anglican Church. 

1290. The Jews were expelled from 
England by a decree of Edward I. This 
monarch had vowed, during a severe ill- 
ness, that if he should recover he would 
lead a crusade against the infidels. But 
on his recovery the idea of a journey to 
Palestine proved so distasteful that he 
salved his conscience by driving the Jews 
out of his French province of Guienne. 
This gave such satisfaction to his English 
subjects, many of whom were deeply in 
debt to the Jews, that, for their greater 
pleasure, he issued a decree ordering all 
Jews out of England by November 1. 
They were permitted to take but a small 
portion of their wealth, Edward reserving 
the bulk of it for himself and his nobles. 
About fifteen thousand in all were ban- 
ished, the deportation being conducted 
with great barbarity. This decree was 
not set aside till 1656, when Cromwell 
gave the Jews permission to return. There 
had been a few in England during the 
interval. 

1755. The great earthquake at Lisbon, 
one of the most notable of modern dis- 
asters, occurred on this day. The city 
had suffered from many earthquakes pre- 
viously, but had experienced none to 
compare with this, which in a very brief 
interval reduced it to a heap of ruins. 
In about eight minutes most of the houses 
and more than thirty thousand of the in- 
habitants were destroyed and whole streets 
swallowed up. The sea overflowed the 
lower portion of the city in a wave fifty 
feet high, and part of the city was perma- 
nently" engulfed to a depth of six hun- 
dred feet. A fire broke out to complete 
the work of ruin. The earthquake was 
wide-spread, destroying several other Por- 


tuguese cities and great part of the city 
of 3Ialaga in Spain. Half of the city 
of Fez in Morocco perished, and twelve 
thousand Arabs lost their lives. Great 
part of the island of Madeira was laid 
waste, and two thousand houses were de- 
stroyed in the island of Mitylene. The 
earthquake was felt throughout Europe. 

1765. The Stamp Act, against which 
the American colonists showed such bit- 
ter opposition, was intended to go into 
effect on this day. Tumults occurred in 
Boston, and everywhere great excitement 
prevailed, while such measures of oppo- 
sition were taken that it was impossible 
to enforce the act. It was repealed in 
the following March. 

1793. Lord George Gordon, the in- 
stigator of the “ Gordon Kiots,” died in 
prison. He opposed the Act of Tolera- 
tion of the Catholics, and presented a pe- 
tition to Parliament in 1780 at the head 
of a mob of one hundred thousand men. 
Parliament refused to consider his pe- 
tition, and the mob spread over the city, 
burning many buildings and committing 
other outrages, until finally dispersed by 
the military. This riot is vividly de- 
scribed in Dickens’s “ Barnaby Budge.” 

1883. General Sherman retired from 
the command-in-chief of the army of 
the United States, and General Sheridan 
was appointed to the vacant post. Since 
the death of Sheridan, General Schofield 
has been made commander-in-chief. 

1883, The army of Hicks Pasha, eleven 
thousand strong, sent by the Khedive of 
Egypt to disperse the insurgent forces of 
the Mahdi and subdue the Soudan, was 
utterly destroyed near El Obeid. It had 
been led by a treacherous guide into a 
narrow defile where it was impossible to 
use the guns, and after three days’ resist- 
ance the army, worn out by thirst and 
fatigue, surrendered, and were massacred 
so completely that but a single man es- 
caped. There were twelve hundred Eu- 
ropeans in the force. 

IN’overa'ber 3. 

1000. All Souls’ Day. This festival 
of the Koman Catholic Church, said to 
have been instituted by Odilon, Abbot of 
Cluny, about 993 or 1000, was founded 
on behalf of the release of souls from 
purgatory by masses and the prayers of 
the faithful. It became generally ob- 


738 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


served about the end of the tenth cen- 
tury. It was looked upon as of such 
importance that when it fell on Sunday 
it was not postponed till Monday, as with 
other festivals, but was celebrated on the 
preceding Saturday. 

1830. The first division of the South 
Carolina Kailroad was opened to travel. 
This road, when completed, ran from 
Charleston to Hamburg, opposite Savan- 
nah. 

1852. The city of Sacramento, Cali- 
fornia, was in great part destroyed by 
fire, about forty blocks being burned over 
and twenty-five hundred buildings de- 
stroyed. Nearly half the inhabitants 
were left homeless, and several lives were 
lost. The value of the property burned 
was over five millions of dollars. 

1856. The French steamer Le Ly- 
onnais, which left New York four days 
before, was run into at night by a sail- 
ing-vessel, and quickly sank. The pas- 
sengers and crew, one hundred and 
thirty-two ip all, took to the boats and a 
hastily-constructed raft. One of the 
boats, with eighteen persons, was picked 
up four days afterwards, but nothing was 
ever heard of the remainder. 

November 3. 

1679. A comet made its appearance 
which created much terror from its near 
approach to the earth. From the obser- 
vation of its movements by astronomers 
Newton was enabled to demonstrate that 
comets are subject to the law of gravita- 
tion, and that they probably move in 
elliptical orbits. 

1706. An earthquake caused great 
ruin in the Abruzzi. Fifteen thousand 
persons perished. 

1857. The launching of the* Great 
Eastern, the largest vessel ever built, be- 
gan. The difi5.culty of moving the enor- 
mous weight proved so great that she 
was not finally afioat till January 31, 

1858. This vessel was six hundred and 
ninety-two feet long, eighty-three feet 
wide, and fifty-eight feet deep. Her en- 
gines were of twenty-six hundred horse- 
power, and her tonnage twenty-seven 
thousand. (The largest steamer since 
built, the City of New York, has a ton- 
nage of ten thousand five hundred, or con- 
siderably less than half that of the Great 
Eastern.) This huge steamer, for some 
time called the Leviathan, was of little 
service, her principal duty having been 
the laying of several Atlantic telegraph- 
cables. Having proved a white elephant 
to her owners, she has been recently sold 
for the trifling sum of twenty thousand 
dollars, and is to be broken up and sold 
piecemeal. She reached the end of her 


last voyage, and was beached at Tran- 
mere, near Liverpool, August 25, 1888. 

1885. The statue of Major Andr5, 
erected by Cyrus Field at the locality of 
his capture, was destroyed by dynamite, 
exploded by clock-work machinery. The 
perpetrator of the act was not discovered. 

1886. At a meeting of the French 
Academy of Science M. Pasteur an- 
nounced that up to October 31 he had 
inoculated twenty-four hundred and 
ninety persons for hydrophobia. Sixteen 
hundred and twenty-six of these were 
French, of whom ten had died, six being 
children. 

1887. A railroad collision took place 
in St. Louis, causing the wreckage of a 
circus-train. A number of wild animals 
escaped, which were only recovered with 
difficulty, after causing considerable ter- 
ror to the inhabitants. 

Noveinljer 4. 

1605. The celebrated Gunpowder Plot 
was discovered on this date. Its purpose 
was to spring a mine under the Houses 
of Parliament, and destroy king, lords, 
and commons in one grand explosion. 
Guy Fawkes was detected in the vault 
under the House of Lords, preparing the 
train to be fired the next day. Thirty- 
six barrels of gunpowder had been placed 
in the vault. Several prominent Catho- 
lics, who were accused of being in the 
plot, were arrested and executed, and 
others were pursued and killed. The 5th 
of November has long been celebrated in 
London under the title of Guy Fawkes’ 
day, effigies of Guy Fawkes and others 
being carried about the streets. 

1850. Teresa Parodi, the favorite 
Italian opera-singer, made her first ap- 
pearance in New York, at the Astor Place 
Opera-House. Madame Ponisi made her 
first appearance on November 11, at the 
Broadway Theatre. 

1867. Garibaldi, the celebrated Italian 
partisan, was arrested for an invasion of 
the Papal States, which he wished to an- 
nex to the kingdom of Italy. He after- 
wards entered the French service, and in 
1875 was received with great honor at 
Rome by Victor Emmanuel. 

lVoveml>er 5. 

1688. William, Prince of Orange, 
landed at Torbay, England, on the invi- 
tation of the opponents of James II. 
James fled from the kingdom, and Wil- 
liam was crowned King of Great Britain 
and Ii-eland, under the title of William 
III. James, aided by the French, after- 
wards crossed to Ireland, where he was 
decisively defeated at the battle of the 
Boyne. 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


739 


1733* The New York Weekly Journal^ 
the second New York newspaper, was 
started as a rival of Bradford’s Gazette 
(1725). It was a free-spoken sheet, and 
made open war on the administration and 
in favor of popular rights, in consequence 
of which the editor was imprisoned. His 
trial, the first in America for newspaper 
libel, created much excitement, but ended 
in his acquittal, which was looked upon 
as a great victory for the people. The 
paper continued its free tone of political 
criticism. 

1757. An important battle took place 
at Eossbach, Prussia, between the army 
of Frederick the Great and that of the 
French and Austrians. Frederick was 
victorious, his opponents being defeated 
with severe loss. Frederick had twenty 
thousand men, the opposing army twice 
as many. 

1886. In a billiard-match between two 
noted champions, Peall and Collins, Peall 
made the extraordinary run of 2413 
oints, a feat without precedent in the 
istory of the game. 

Novemljer O, 

1459. Sir John Falstaf, a famous 
English captain, who distinguished him- 
self in the battle of Agincourt, died. His 
name, for some reason, was taken by 
Shakespeare as the title of his fat, pot- 
valorous champion, perhaps the most 
generally admired of all his amusing 
characters. 

1885. A severe cyclone passed over a 
portion of Alabama. The wind-track 
was but eight hundred yards in width, 
yet thirteen persons were killed and fifty 
seriously injured, while nearly everything 
in its track was destroyed. 

1886. The two-hundred-and-fiftieth 
anniversary of Harvard University was 
celebrated with great rejoicings. Repre- 
sentatives frmn Oxford, Cambridge, and 
other universities were present. Harvard 
was founded in 1636, on October 28 
(O. S ), at Newtown, which name was 
changed to Cambridge. It derived its 
name from John Harvard, who be- 
queathed it his library and a sum of 
money in 1638. 

;Noveml>er 7', 

1811. The battle of Tippecanoe was 
fought by General Harrison against the 
insurgent Indians. • They attacked his 
camp about four in the morning, and 
a fierce contest ensued, which finally 
ended in a severe repulse of the Indians. 
From this battle came the rallying-cry 
of Harrison’s partisans in the Presiden- 
tial campaign of 1840. 1 


1837. The printing of an abolition 
newspaper in Alton, Illinois, by the Rev. 
E. P. Lovejoy, gave rise to an outbreak 
of mob violence, in which the building 
was attacked and set on fire, the press 
broken and thrown into the river, and 
the editor murdered. 

1868. The great bridge across the 
Mississippi at Quincy, Illinois, was 
thrown open for travel on this day. This 
is a draw-bridge, with a draw-span one 
hundred and ninety feet in length. The 
total length of the bridge is three thou- 
sand seven hundred and forty-one feet. 

1879. The steamer Champion came 
into collision with the ship Lady Oc- 
tavia off the Delaware capes, and sank, 
with the loss of thirty lives. 

1885. A terrific cyclone occurred on 
the Philippine Islands, causing enormous 
destruction. More than ten thousand 
houses, besides churches and public 
buildings, were ruined. 

1885. The last spike in the Canadian 
Pacific Railroad was driven at Farwell, 
British Columbia. This completed a 
continuous line of rail, three thousand 
and twenty-five miles long, from Quebec 
to Port Moody on the Pacific. The first 
contract for this great work was made in 
1874. It has a government subsidy of 
twenty-five million dollars and twenty- 
five million acres of land. It was built 
with great rapidity, considering the pov- 
erty of the country. The total cost was 
over $140,000,000. 

1885. The steamer Algoma was 
wrecked on Lake Superior, with a loss 
of forty-five lives. 

1886. L. M. Donovan leaped from 
Niagara Suspension Bridge into the river 
below. He ruptured the pleura and 
broke a rib, a mild penalty for so mad an 
act. *He had previously leaped from 
the Brooklyn Suspension iBridge into the 
East River. 

Novem'ber 8, 

1674. John Milton, the great English 
oet, died in London. He had been 
lind for about twenty years, and in that 
period had written his “Paradise Lost,” 
one of the noblest of epic poems. He 
wrote much other poetry, of an unsur- 
passed grade of excellence, and was the 
author of some of the finest prose essays 
in the English language. 

1793. Madame Roland, one of the 
noblest and most gifted women that 
France has produced, was guillotined at 
Paris. She was an ardent revolutionist, 
and a leader in the councils of the Giron- 
dist party. Her house was the centre 
of the intellect of Paris at that period. 

1861. Mason and Slidell, commission- 


740 


EVERY DAY’S RECORD. 


ere from the Confederate States to Eng- 
land, were taken from the British steamer 
Trent, on its way from Havana to Eng- 
land, by Captain Wilkes, of the Federal 
war-steamer San Jacinto. This action 
created great enthusiasm in the North, 
hut was bitterly resented by England, 
and a declaration of war seemed immi- 
nent. Secretary Seward, however, per- 
ceiving that the act was unwarranted, 
released the prisoners, who sailed for 
England January 1, 1862. 

i 88 o. Sarah Bernhardt, the favorite 
French actress, made her first appearance 
in this country at Booth’s Theatre, New 
York, in “ Adrienne Lecouvreur.” The 
house was filled to overflowing, and she 
was received with the greatest enthu- 
siasm. 

1885 . Fred Archer, the celebrated 
English jockey, died from the efiect of 
istol-shots fired by himself while in the 
elirium of typhoid fever. It is esti- 
mated that his income from riding was 
one hundred thousand dollars a year. He 
was thirty years of age. 

November O. 

1453 . The Lord-Mayor’s procession 
of London was instituted in this year by 
Sir John Norman. It was celebrated 
with costly pageants till 1685, since which 
time it has degenerated into a ludicrous 
imitation of the mediaeval exhibition, 
the efforts that have been made to revive 
the ancient pageantrj’^ proving failures. 
In the Middle Ages the mayor of London 
was the virtual king of the city, being 
the head of the powerful guilds of arti- 
sans, who did their utmost to honor their 
chiefi Giants were then the most popu- 
lar adjuncts of the celebration, and they 
are still represeiited by the wooden giants 
of Guildhall. The great feature of Lord- 
Mayor’s Day at present is the banquet at 
Guildhall. 

1793 . The first newspaper published 
in the Western country north of the Ohio 
was issued at Cincinnati. It was called 
The Centinel of the Northwestern Terri- 
tory. 

1872 . The great fire at Boston, the 
most destructive conflagration known in 
America after that of Chicago, broke out 
on the evening of this day, and raged for 
twenty-four hours. It destroyed the 
richest section of the wholesale trade of 
the city, reducing to ashes hundreds of 
granite and iron structures filled with 
costly merchandise. The fire spread from 
Summer Street north nearly to State 
Street, and from Washington Street to 
the water’s edge, covering in all an area 
of sixty acres. The estimated loss was 
$75,000,000. Most of the public build- 


ings escaped, but the homes of Webster 
and Everett were burned. 

1875 . The steamer City of Waco was 
burned off Galveston Bar. About seventy 
lives were lost. 

November lO. 

1793 . The worship of the Goddess of 
Eeason began at Paris. This was one 
of the mad vagaries of the. revolutionists, 
who had decided to do away with all es- 
tablished religions and found a new code 
of their own, with Eeason as its deity. 

1876 . The Centennial Exhibition of 
Arts and Industries at Philadelphia 
closed on this day. The preceding day 
had been “ Philadelphia Day,” the pay- 
ing admissions being 176,924. In the 
evening there had been a grand display 
of English and American fireworks. The 
total admissions to the exhibition were 
9,789,392, and the receipts $3,813,749, this 
being considerably less than the cost. 

1884 . Adelaide Eistori, the most cele- 
brated of Italian actresses, made a farewell 
visit to America, beginning her tour of 
performances at Philadelphia, her reper- 
toire of plays being “ Mary Stuart,” 
“Marie Antoinette,” “Elizabeth,” and 
“ Macbeth.” Her first visit to the United 
States was made in September, 1866. Her 
dramatic genius was of the highest order. 
To quote the eulogistic words of the At- 
lantic Monthly, “ What Shakespeare is 
among dramatists, Eistori is among 
actors.” 

1885 . The greatest gift ever made by 
an individual in the interests of educa- 
tion was- given by Senator Stamford, of 
California, for the purpose of founding a 
university in honor of his deceased son. 
He had already given eighty-three thou- 
sand acres of land (valued at $5,000,000) 
for this purpose, and now added a further 
gift of $15,000,000 *03 an endowment 
fund. 

1886 . The invasion of Burmah was 
ordered by the Viceroy of India. King 
Theebaw had declared war and ordered 
the extermination of all Englishmen in 
Burmah, and this action was in reprisal. 
The invasion brought him to his senses, 
and he surrendered Mandalay, his capital, 
on the 28th. Since then the British have 
held Burmah, though not without much 
difliculty. 

November 11, 

316 . Martinmas, or St. Martin’s Day. 
St. Martin was the son of a Eoman mili- 
tary tribune, and was born in Hungary 
about 316. His mildness and spirituality 
of character unfitted him for the army, 
and. he left it and joined the church, be- 
coming Bishop of Tours. In this office 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


741 


he converted the inhabitants of his dio- 
cese to Christianity and overturned many 
heathen temples. Of the traditions re- 
lating to him the favorite is that of his 
dividing his cloak with a naked beggar. 
This cloak, miraculously preserved, long 
formed one of the holiest and most valued 
relics of France. St. M artin was a popu- 
lar saint in England. 

1035. Canute, the ablest of the Danish 
kings of England, died. Denmark and 
, Norway were also under the sway of this 
ruler, who was the most powerful mon- 
arch of his time. He was a wise and 
politic king, his good sense being shown 
in his celebrated answer to his courtiers, 
who had declared that the sea would re- 
tire at his command. To expose their 
folly he seated himself on the sea-shore 
and ordered the waters of the rising tide 
to retire. As they did not do so, he 
turned to his discomfited courtiers and 
remarked that that poAver belonged to one 
Being only, who alone could say to the 
ocean, “ Thus far shalt thou go, and no 
farther, and here shall thy proud waves 
be stayed.” 

1857. A most remarkable struggle 
against peril by sea and fire took place 
on the Sarah Sands, an English govern- 
ment transport bound for Calcutta. 
When four hundred miles from Mauri- 
tius, the cargo, consisting of army stores, 
took fire. There were three hundred 
soldiers on board, who were at once set 
to empty the magazines. The powder 
was all thrown overboard but two barrels, 
one of which exploded and did great' 
damage to the ship. After an incessant 
fight for twenty-four hours the fire was 
subdued, but the ship in its after part 
was a mere burned-out shell, with fifteen 
feet of water in the hold and a heavy gale 
blowing. Yet through disciplined labor 
and unflagging energy the leak was 
stopped, the water pumped out, the boats 
which had been lying off* with the women 
and children picked up, and sail made for 
Mauritius. The gale fortunately sub- 
sided, and this island was reached in ten 
days, without the loss of a single life. 
No more wonderful victory over adverse 
circumstances is known in history. 

1880. Mr. Boycott, of Lough Mask 
farm, Ireland, was besieged by the people, 
his laborers threatened, and supplies re- 
fused him by tradesmen. This latter fact 
has given a new word to the English 
language, that of “ boycotting.” 

^ov’oml>er 13. 

1833. An extraordinary meteoric dis- 
play took place in the United States, in 
which it seemed as if all the stars were 
falling from the skies. Wide-spread ter- 


ror prevailed among the more ignorant 
classes of the population. The scene is 
described as an “ almost infinite number 
of meteors ; they fell like flakes of snow.” 
“ Scarcely a space in the firmament that 
was not filled at every instant.” These 
meteors are believed to have come from 
a ring of “star-dust” which revolves 
round the sun in about thirty-three years, 
and whose path is crossed by the earth at 
this date in November. Some meteors 
are seen every year at this date, and fine 
displays, at intervals of thirty-three years 
or some multiple of this number, have 
been observed on several occasions in the 
past. 

1854. Charles Kemble, a brother of 
Mrs. Siddons and of the eminent trage- 
dian John Philip Kemble, died. He began 
playing in 1792, and continued on the 
stage as a successful actor till 1840. 

1862. Shells from the Whitworth guns 
were sent through a solid iron plate of 
five and a half inches’ thickness and the 
backing of wood-work behind it. These 
are breech-loading, rifled, wrought-iron 
guns of great lightness. The range of 
a thirty - two - pound Whitworth gun 
charged with five pounds of powder is a 
little over five miles. 

1874. Extremely rapid travelling was 
made on the Pennsylvania and the Phil- 
adelphia and Baltimore Kailroads. The 
time made between Jersey City and West 
Philadelphia was one hour and forty- 
seven minutes, and from the latter place 
to Baltimore two hours and fifteen min- 
utes. 

1883. The town of Shenandoah, Penn- 
sylvania, was almost entirely destroyed 
by fire, thirteen hundred persons being 
left homeless. 

Novem.'ber 13, 

1851. The laying of the first success- 
ful submarine cable was completed. It 
extended frofn Dover to Calais, across 
the English Channel. An attempt had 
been made some time before, but the 
wire had snapped on a rocky ridge, after 
messages had passed. Now telegrams 
passed between Paris and London, and 
guns were fired at Dover by electric com- 
munication from Calais. 

1866. A great meteoric shower was 
seen in England on the night of Novem- 
ber 13-14. For a short time the sky 
seemed alive with falling stars. It Avas 
estimated that two thousand meteors visi- 
ble at one point fell in an hour, and a 
very great number in all. In the centre 
of the fall some observers estimated the 
number at one hundred per minute. On 
November 13, 1868, a fine display oc- 
curred in the United States, indicating 
that the centre of the November mete- 


742 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


\ 

oric ring is of great extent, since it took 
two years to cross the earth’s orbit. 

1868. Gioacchimo Kossini, the most 
celebrated of recent musical composers, 
died. He was a native of Italy, born in 
1792, and was the composer of some of 
the most admired of modern operas. The 
most popular of these is “ The Barber of 
Seville.” His finest work, in the opinion 
of musicians, is “ William Tell.” 

1 832. A magnificent auroral display, 
visible in the Middle and Eastern States, 
occurred, and is described as the most 
brilliant seen for years. Streamers and 
auroral waves flashed from the horizon to 
the zenith, yielding a light equal to that 
of the moon in her first quarter. 

1885. A destructive fire broke out at 
Galveston, which completely ruined sixty 
blocks of buildings, comprising the best 
residences of the city. The loss was es- 
timated at $4,000,000. 

Noveixi'ber 14:, 

1716. Leibnitz, the eminent German 
philosopher, died. He was a mathema- 
tician of high ability, advanced new theo- 
ries of motion and of geological phe- 
nomena, and is esteemed as one of the 
few men of universal genius. He wrote 
on a great variety of subjects, though he 
is best known for his striking metaphys- 
ical theories. 

1770. James Bruce, a traveller of 
Scottish birth, and one of the earliest of 
modern African explorers, discovered the 
source of the Blue Nile. He believed that 
he had reached the main source of the 
river ; but recent research has proved this 
a mistake. In his return he encountered 
great perils and hardships, which only 
his unusual energy and courage enabled 
him to overcome. 

1831. Hegel, one of the most renowned 
German philosophers of the present cen- 
tury, died of cholera. His works are ex- 
tensive, and form the most complete mod- 
ern exposition of the pantheistic system 
of philosophy. 

1854. A great disaster occurred to the 
English transports in the Black Sea, dur- 
ing the Crimean War. A violent storm 
arose, and drove many of these vessels, 
which were anchored outside the harbors, 
on the rocks. The principal loss was of 
the Prince, a twenty-seven-hundred-ton 
transport loaded with army stores. She 
was dashed to pieces, and her crew of one 
hundred and forty-four men were lost. 
Thirty-two transports were wrecked, with 
a total loss of about five hundred lives 
and ten million dollars’ worth of stores. 
The French fleet sufiered less, but the 
Henry IV., a line-of-battle ship, was 
stranded, and another frigate wrecked. 


The loss of these stores caused great suf- 
fering to the army during the succeeding 
winter. 

i860. Kussia, by treaty with China, 
added an extensive tract to her possessions 
in eastern Asia. An immense district 
north of the Amoor, claimed by China, 
had been forcibly seized several years be- 
fore, together with a considerable district 
south of that river, bordering on the Pa- 
cific. The treaty was one of necessity. 
What the robber refused to restore the, 
victim gave away. * 

1864. Sherman’s famous “march to 
the sea” began. Having torn up the 
railroads and cut the telegraphs leading 
from Atlanta, he started on his long 
march across Georgia, all communication 
with the North being broken. On De- 
cember 10 he reached the vicinity* of Sa- 
vannah, and shortly afterwards took pos- 
session of that city, thus completing his 
daring enterprise. 

1886. A destructive explosion took 
place on a Chinese steamer off Niigata, 
causing a loss of ninety-six lives. 

No'vem.'ber 15. 

1315. One of the most remarkable of 
the Swiss victories took place at Mor- 
arten, thirteen hundred Swiss completely 
efeating twenty thousand Austrians 
under Duke Leopold. The Austrians 
were attacked from the heights of Mor- 
garten while passing through a defile. 

1635. The funeral of “ Old Parr’* 
was solemnized with much ceremony. 
This person was celebrated for his lon- 
gevity. He is said to have been born in 
1483, which would make him one hun- 
dred and fifty-two years of age at his 
death. He married at the age of one 
hundred and twenty, and was still able to 
work at one hundred and thirty. If his 
date of birth is correctly given, which is 
somewhat questionable, his length of life 
is without authentic parallel in historical 
times. 

1777. The confederation of the thir- 
teen colonies into the “ United States of 
America” was concluded. This was a 
league for common defence, rather than 
a firm governmental combination, and 
was replaced in 1788 by the constitutional 
union of the States. The flag proposed 
for the confederacy, consisting of thirteen 
alternate red and white stripes, and thir- 
teen white stars in a blue field to represent 
the Union, was adopted by Congress. 

1832. Philadelphia and Harrisburg 
were connected by a continuous line of 
railroad. Beyond Harrisburg the line of 
travel to Pittsburg was mainly by canal, 
with a short line over the mountains of 
thirty-six miles of railroad, worked by 
stationary engines. 


EVERY DAY'S RECORD. 


743 


1835. Halley’s comet made its appear- 
ance, as predicted. Halley, the astrono- 
mer, from whom it was named, was the 
first to prove that many of the comets 
seen are periodical returns of the same 
body. This comet has a period of about 
seventy-five years. It appeared, as he 
had predicted, in 1759, and again in 1835. 
Its next return will be about 1910. 

1879. A new ocean telegraph-cable, 
the seventh laid across the Atlantic, had 
its shore end landed at North Eastham, 
on Cape Cod. Its European terminus is 
at Brest, France. 

November lO. 

1632. The battle of Lutzon, the most 
important engagement of the Thirty 
Years’ War, was fought between the 
Swedes under Gustavus Adolphus and 
the Imperialists under Wallenstein. The 
battle was hotly contested, and Gustavus, 
the heroic champion of Protestantism, was 
killed, yet the well-disciplined Swedes 
kept up the fight and gained the victory 
after the death of their leader. 

1776. Fort Washington, near New 
York, was attacked and captured with all 
its garrison by the British under General 
Howe. This, and the subsequent capture 
of Fort Lee, were very serious disasters 
to the American cause, and were followed 
by a hasty retreat of Washington’s army 
across New Jersey. 

1886. The execution of Kiel, the Cana- 
dian rebel, took place at Kegina. This 
pei'son, a half-breed French-Indian, had 
organized and led a rebellious opposition 
to the government, in what seemed an 
unjust dispossession of the settlers on the 
Red River. Much sympathy was felt for 
him, and the French Canadians were 
greatly excited at his execution. They 
went into mourning, and burned the 
members of the ministry in effigy in the 
streets of Montreal. 

lVovoml>er XT’. 

1609. The Moors were banished from 
Spain by an edict of Philip III. Nine 
hundred thousand of the most industrious 
inhabitants were driven from the king- 
dom, under circumstances of the greatest 
barbarity, by this decree. Spain felt the 
effect as severely as the Moors. Her 
trade and industry fell ofi* greatly, and 
she gradually lost her position as a first- 
class power and sank to a much lower 
level in European politics. 

1747. Le Sage, a celebrated French 
romance-writer, died. The work by which 
he is best known is his “ Gil Bias,” 
which has been one of the most universal 
of favorites among novels. He also wrote 
“The Devil on Two Sticks,” and other 
novels, and a number of popular plays. 

VoL. XLII.— 48 


1848. The first satisfactory record of 
time by telegraph was made by the Coast 
Survey, between Cincinnati and Pitts- 
burg. A delicate clock was constructed 
and wires put up for the purpose. The 
clock registered its beats at all the offices 
along the line on a Morse paper slip. 

1869. The Suez Canal was opened for 
traffic, the Emperor of Austria, the Em- 
press of France, the Viceroy of Egypt, 
and numerous other dignitaries, being 
present. The work on the canal began 
in 1860 . The canal, constructed by M. 
De Lesseps, is eighty-eight miles long, 
one-fourth of its length running through 
the beds of old lakes. It is twenty-six 
feet deep, and cost about one hundred 
million dollars. 

1877. The city of Kars was taken by 
the Russians, in the Russo-Turkish war. 
The Russian troops climbed steep rocks, 
and took the place by assault, after a se- 
vere nocturnal conflict which lasted 
twelve hours. Three hundred guns and 
ten thousand prisoners were taken, and 
the Turks lost about five thousand killed 
and wounded. The Russian loss was 
about half this number. 

1882. A remarkable auroral display 
was observed in the northwestern States 
and Territories, which is described as of 
extraordinary brilliancy. In several lo- 
calities the brightness was greater than 
that of the full moon, and people rose 
thinking that the day had dawned. It 
was preceded and attended by a violent 
magnetic storm. Large sun-spots, one 
of them visible to the naked eye, had 
been observed just previously. 

1886. Terrific gales occurred on the 
great lakes, continuing till the 23 d, and 
causing great destruction. Thirty ves- 
sels were wrecked, with a loss of fifty 
lives. 

1887. John Most, the anarchist, was 
arrested in New York for using incendi- 
ary language. He was tried in December 
and sentenced to one year’s imprison- 
ment. This personage had been promi- 
nent among the European socialists, and, 
finding it desirable to emigrate to “ free” 
America, used his freedom here in the 
interests of the worst of tyrannies, that 
of anarchy. 

JVovemDer IS. 

1626. The church of St. Peter’s, at 
Rome, was consecrated. This immense 
building, the largest in existence, was 
begun in 1506 . It is six hundred and 
sixty-nine feet long and four hundred and 
forty-two in its greatest breadth. The 
magnificent dome, devised by Michael 
Angelo, is three hundred and twenty- 
four feet high, and contains thirty thou- 
sand pounds of iron. The front of the 


744 


EVERY DAY'S RECORD. 


church is four hundred feet broad and 
one hundred and eighty high, the ex- 
treme height of the edifice being four 
hundred and thirty-two feet. 

1755 . The most violent earthquake 
ever experienced in New England began 
at 11m. 35s. after 4 a.m. on this day. 
The time was fixed exactly by a curious 
circumstance. Prof. Winthrop, of Cam- 
bridge, had placed a long glass tube in 
the case of his tall clock for security, the 
clock having been set just before at the 
correct time. The first movement of the 
earth threw the tube against the pendu- 
lum and stopped the clock, thus register- 
ing the exact moment. The earthquake 
lasted four and a half minutes, and was 
attended by “ a rumbling noise and vio- 
lent concussions, jerks, and wrenches.” 
The principal damage was in the fall of 
chimneys and cracking of walls. The 
earth opened in many places. 

1833 . There was opened this day in 
New York, at the corner of Church and 
Leonard Streets, the first theatre built 
in the United States expressly for op- 
eratic performances. It proved a failure 
as an opera-house, and was used as a 
theatre till destroyed by fire in 1841. 

1883 . Standard time, which had been 
adopted on most of the New England 
railroads on October 17, was on this day 
adopted on the other railroads east of the 
Mississippi Kiver. This system estab- 
lishes four standard meridians for the 
United States, the 75th, the 90th, the 
105th, and the 120th, each being the 
centre of a region fifteen degrees wide 
within which the time conforms to one 
standard, while it differs one hour in each 
successive region. This is of great con- 
venience to travellers. Formerly in 
travelling from Boston to Washington 
travellers needed to change their watches 
five times to conform to railroad time. 
Now the time is the same throughout 
that distance. The current time came 
nearer to the standard time in Philadel- 
phia than in any other of the great cities, 
the clocks there needing to be set but 
thirty -six .seconds faster. This was in 
consequence of the 75th meridian passing 
very close to Philadelphia. 

1885 . John McCullough, one of the 
most admired of recent American tra- 
gedians, died at Philadelphia. He was 
of Irish birth, the son of a poor farmer, 
and worked for some time in this country 
at chair-making. While thus engaged, 
he joined an amateur dramatic company, 
and in 1857 began his theatrical career 
at a salary of four dollars a week. Edwin 
Forrest took a fancy to him and brought 
him forward, and he became a general 
favorite, of the Forrest school of acting. 
He broke down September 30, 1884, while 


playing “ Virginius,” and gradually lost 
his reason. 

1886 . Mr. Thomas Stevens completed 
the most remarkable bicycle-ride on 
record, a “ wheel” tour of the world. 
Ho reached Shanghai, China, on this 
date, having travelled nearly twelve thou- 
sand miles. He left San Francisco in 
April, 1884, rode thirty-seven hundred 
miles in America, and twenty-five hun- 
dred in Europe, the remainder of his 
journey being across Asia. In China he 
rode three hundred miles only, being 
forced to abandon his bicycle after a few 
days on account of the hostility of the 
natives, to whom the strange device 
probably seemed something uncanny. 

1886 . Ex-President Chester A. Arthur 
died. He was a native of Vermont, 
born in 1830, and became a lawyer in 
New York in 1851. He was inspector 
and afterwards quartermaster-general of 
the State troops during the war, collector 
of the port of New York from 1871 to 
1878, and in 1880 was elected Vice-Presi- 
dent of the United States. On the death 
of President Garfield he became Presi- 
dent. 

Novem'ber lO, 

1703 . The “ Man with the Iron Mask” 
died. This personage was a mysterious 
French prisoner who was closely con- 
fined in various prisons from 1679 till his 
death in the Bastile in 1703. He was 
treated with as much respect as if of noble 
blood, but his mask was never removed, 
and his keepers had ordei-s to despatch 
him if he took it ofiT. Many conjectures 
have been made as to his identity, but it 
remains unknown. The mask was not 
really of iron, but of black velvet, 
strengthened with whalebone, and was 
fastened behind his head with a padlock. 

1822 . An earthquake which took place 
in Chili on this date permanently raised 
the coast to a height of from two to seven 
feet. A region of one hundred thousand 
square miles between the Andes and the 
coast was thus elevated. 

1873 . Tweed (William Marcyh the 
famous head of the New York “ Boss” 
faction, was sentenced to imprisonment 
and a heavy fine for barefaced appropria- 
tion of the public funds of that city. He 
had been made commissioner of public 
works in 1870, and in this position helped 
himself with daring openness to public 
moneys, and answered remonstrance by 
the fhmous challenge of “ Bossism,” 
“ What are you going to do about it?” 
In response he was arrested, fined, and 
sentenced to twelve years’ imprisonment, 
but escaped from prison in December, 
1875, and fled from the country. He was 
rearrested at Vigo, Spain, in September, 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


745 


1876, brought back, and died in prison 
April 12, 1878. 

1883. The piercing of the Arlberg 
tunnel through the Alps was completed. 
This made the third great tunnel through 
the Alps. It is six miles long, the Mount 
Cenis tunnel being seven and a half 
and the St. Gothard nine and a half 
miles long. 

1887. The German steamer Scholten 
was sunk in the English Channel, ofi’ 
Dover, by collision with another vessel. 
One hundred and twelve lives were lost. 

]Voveml>ei* 30. 

1497. The celebrated Portuguese navi- 
gator Vasco da Gama doubled the Cape 
of Good Hope, on his journey to India. 
The cape had been seen by Diaz in 1486, 
and named by him Cape Tormentoso, 
from the stormy weather he experienced 
there. John II. of Portugal gave it its 
present name, from the hopeful prospects 
its discovery held out to his kingdom. 
Ancient voyagers had sailed round this 
cape, but this was the first of modern 
voyages around Africa, and the opening 
of that Asiatic trade and exploration of 
the Pacific which have proved of such 
vital importance in modern history. 

1887. The winter quarters of Barnum’s 
menagerie and circus were burned, with 
a very heavy loss in equipments, while 
many rare and valuable animals perished 
in the fiames. Yet, with his accustomed 
energy, the veteran showman was ready 
for the field at the opening of the follow- 
ing season, having repaired his losses and 
restocked his menagerie. 

November 31. 

1789. North Carolina ratified the 
Constitution of the United States, by a 
vote in convention of one hundred and 
ninety-three to seventy-five. It had been 
previously ratified by all the other States 
except Khode Island. 

1852. The question of the restoration 
of the empire in Prance was voted upon, 
7,824,189 votes being for, and 253,145 
against. In consequence, Napoleon, who 
had been styled Prince President since 
the coup d'Hatj was declared emperor, 
under the title of Napoleon III. 

1884. Severely cold weather and heavy 
snow-storms drove herds of wolves from 
the Carpathian Mountains into the culti- 
vated districts of Austria, causing great 
terror and much injury. A pack of one 
hundred and twenty wolves invaded one 
village while the people were at church, 
and held the ground so firmly that they 
were only driven out by the charge of a 
squadron of Uhlans, armed with swords 
and carbines. 

1885. The steamer Iberian, from Bos- 


ton to Liverpool, ran ashore on the rocks 
of Duncannon Bay. There was no storm, 
but through foggy weather the captain 
had lost his reckoning, and the vessel 
was steered blindly upon the rocks. The 
crew escaped, but the steamer broke up 
and sank. 

1887. A powder-magazine exploded 
at Amoy, China. Fifty soldiers and 
several hundred citizens were killed, and 
a large part of the city was destroyed. 

]Voveml>er 33. 

St. Cecilia’s Day. This saint is the 
patroness of music, and is the subject 
of celebrated paintings by Kaphael and 
Domenichino, and of Dryden’s famous 
“ Ode for Saint Cecilia’s Day,” by many 
critics esteemed the finest ode in the Eng- 
lish language. Cecilia is supposed to 
have been a Koman lady who suffered 
martyrdom in the second or third century. 

1774. Lord Clive committed suicide. 
This celebrated character, the founder of 
the British Empire in India, began his 
career as a clerk in the service of the 
East India Company, in which position, 
discouraged by poor pay and ill health, 
he attempted to kill himself. Failing in 
this, he entered the military service as an 
ensign, gained several victories over the 
French and natives, and rose rapidly in 
command, till at the battle of Plassey he 
defeated with three thousand men sixty 
thousand of the enemy and decided the 
fate of India. He was greatly honored 
in England, and raised to the peerage, 
but, resorting to opium as a relief from 
ill health, he brought himself into a con- 
dition of physical and mental disorder 
from which he found escape in suicide. 

1873. The French steamer Yille du 
Havre, from New York for Havre, col- 
lided, in a calm, clear night, with the 
ship Lochearn of Glasgow, and sank in 
fifteen minutes. The collision brought 
down the main- and mizzen-masts, kill- 
ing many of the persons on deck. Of 
one hundred and seventy-two persons on 
board eighty-five escaped. The Lochearn 
was so inj ured that she was abandoned at 
sea, her crew and those rescued from the 
Ville du Havre being taken off by other 
vessels. 

N’ovein'ber 33. 

1878. The fishery award in favor of 
Great Britain was paid in London by 
the American minister. The fisheries of 
Canada and the United States had been 
made free to the citizens of both countries 
by the treaty of 1871, but a commission 
of arbitration that met at Halifax to de- 
cide the difference in value awarded to 
Great Britain the sum of five and a half 
million dollars. The justice of this award 
was strongly questioned in the United 


746 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


States, but Congress promptly voted an 
appropriation for its payment. 

1878. The Marquis of Lome, the 
newly -appointed Governor - General of 
Canada, arrived in that country with his 
wife, the Princess Louise, a daughter 
of Queen Victoria. They were received 
with the greatest enthusiasm, and every- 
thing done to honor their arrival. They 
remained in Canada till 1883, the severity 
of the climate by that time proving too 
much for the endurance of the princess. 

November 

1572. John Knox, the father of Prot- 
estantism in Scotland, died. He was or- 
dained a priest about 1630, but renounced 
the Koman Catholic religion in 1532 and 
became a zealous advocate of Protestant 
doctrines. He was perhaps the most ex- 
traordinary man of his age, and by his 
ardent labors did much to give a new 
character to the Scottish people and mould 
the modern history of his country. 

1716. The river Thames was frozen 
so deeply that a fair was held on the ice 
and oxen roasted. The severe weather 
continued till February 9. 

1793. The French Kevolutionary Cal- 
endar was decreed, the first year of the 
new era to begin at midnight of Septem- 
ber 21, 1792. It professed to be based on 
philosophical principles, and named the 
months in accordance with the varying 
conditions of nature. It continued in use 
till December 31, 1805. 

1859. Adelina Patti, the renowned 
prima donna, made her first appearance 
in opera at the Academy of Music, New 
York. She was then less than seventeen 
years old. She appeared in London in 
1861, and at once became a general 
favorite. From that time forward she has 
been the most universally esteemed of 
operatic singers. 

1863. The battle of Lookout Moun- 
tain was fought. In this celebrated en- 
gagement General Hooker led the Union 
army up the slope of a steep, broken, and 
difilcult hill in the face of a well-posted 
enemy, until the summit was reached and 
victory gained. This action has been 
called “ The Battle above the Clouds." 

1865. James Stephens, “ head centre" 
of the Fenians of Ireland, who was cap- 
tured and imprisoned on the 11th, escaped 
from prison. He was not recaptured, and 
reached New York in the following May. 
The Fenian brotherhood had been organ- 
ized by Stephens in 1858. 

1877. The United States sloop-of-war 
Huron went ashore on the rocks near 
Oregon Inlet, North Carolina, and was 
totally wrecked. Nearly one hundred 
ersons lost their lives. On the same 
ay of November, 1880, the Oncle Jo- 


seph, a French steamer, was sunk off 
Spezia by collision with an Italian 
steamer, the Ortigia. Of three hundred 
persons on board only fifty were rescued. 

1885. The Prohibition party gained a 
victory in Atlanta, Georgia, in conse- 
quence of which all the liquor-saloons in 
that thriving city were closed, with, as is 
reported, great improvement in the health, 
peace, and prosperity of the place. At 
an election held in 1888 this action was 
rescinded, and the saloons once more hold 
the field. 

IVo'vem'ber 35. 

1783. The British evacuated the city 
of New York, the last ground which they 
held in America. The American army 
took possession of it on the same day. 
“ Evacuation Day" has ever since been 
celebrated in that city. The centennial 
anniversary of this event in 1883 was 
an occasion of great public display. A 
statue of Washington was unveiled. 

1816. A theatre in Philadelphia was 
lighted with gas, being the first place of 
amusement in America thus illuminated. 
Baltimore w’as the first American city in 
which gas-lights were used in the streets. 
The earliest use of gas in street-lighting 
was in London, in 1807. 

1843. Bull, the renowned violin- 
ist, made his fii'st appearance in America, 
at the Park Theatre, New York. From 
that time forward he made frequent visits 
to America, where his popularity was 
great. 

1863. The battle of Missionary Ridge 
took place. In this severe conflict the 
Union troops fought their way up a 
mountain-side in the face of the Confed- 
erate batteries, and drove Bragg’s army 
from the summit. It was a fitting cli- 
max to the victory at Lookout Mountain, 
and went far towards ending the contest 
in that region. 

1864. Several attempts were made to 
set on fire the city of New York, by 
kindling fires in the hotels. It was be- 
lieved that this was done by Confederates, 
and it was ordered that all persons re- 
siding in the city should register them- 
selves, under penalty of being treated as 
spies. One of the hotel-incendiaries was 
caught, confessed his crimes, and was 
executed. 

1885. Alfonso XII., King of Spain, 
died. He was the son of Queen Isabella, 
who was driven from the throne in 1868. 
In 1874, after the downfall of the repub- 
lic, he was proclaimed king. His daugh- 
ter Mercedes, five years old, became heir 
to the throne upon his death, but was 
dethroned by the birth of a posthumous 
son in 1886, who now, as Alphonso XIII., 
is recognized as King of Spain. His 


EVERY DAY^S RECORD. 


747 


mother is acting as regent for this very 
youthful monarch, who can scarcely ap- 
preciate as yet his royal dignity. 

Noveml>er 36. 

1783. The session of the TJ nited States 
Congress which began this day was held 
in Annapolis, Maryland. 

1818. Encke’s comet was discovered 
on this day. The discovery was made by 
M. Pons, but the comet was named after 
Professor Encke, who traced its orbit and 
movements and predicted its return. It 
is one of three comets that have appeared 
according to prediction, its revolutions 
being made in three years and fifteen 
weeks. 

1833. The Democrat, the first paper 
published in Chicago, appeared this day. 
The city at that time had less than six 
hundred inhabitants. 

No'veml>ei» 3T. 

8 B.C. Horace, the most admired lyric 
poet of Rome, died this day. Few of the 
world’s poets have been so much esteemed 
for the beauty, insight, good sense, and 
quiet philosophy of their poems ; and 
the admiration for the works of Horace 
grows, rather than decreases, as time rolls 
on. 

511. Clovis, the founder of the king- 
dom of France, died. He was born a 
pagan, but married a Christian princess, 
and in '496 adopted her religion, which 
from that time forward became the 
national religion of France. 

1703. One of the most terrific storms 
known in English history reached its 
height on this day. It continued a week 
in all and did enormous damage in Eng- 
land, Holland, and France. There were 
great losses on the Thames, and the Eng- 
lish fleet, which was just then otf the 
coast, suffered unprecedented disasters. 
Five seventy- and three sixty-gun ships, 
with several smaller vessels, went ashore 
and were totally wrecked, the loss in 
officers and men aggregating about fifteen 
hundred. The number of persons drowned 
by floods in the Severn and Thames, and 
in wrecked merchant-ships, is estimated 
at eight thousand. Trees are said to have 
been torn up by the roots to the number 
of seventeen thousand in Kent alone. 
Multitudes of cattle were lost, fifteen 
thousand sheep being drowned on one 
level. During the night of the 27th the 
first Eddystone light-house, which had 
been built four years before, went down 
before the storm, with its builder, Win- 
stanley, in it. This celebrated light- 
house has been replaced several times 
since. Of the present one the foundation- 
stone was laid by the Duke of Edinburgh , 


August 19, 1879, and the corner-stone 
placed by the same dignitary, June 1 , 1881. 

1851. A serious accident occurred in 
a New York public school, occasioned by 
a peculiar cause. One of the teachers 
was seized by paralysis, and the whole 
school was thrown into a panic by the 
screams of her alarmed pupils. A wild 
rush of the frightened childi'en for the 
stairs followed, and, the balusters giving 
way under the pressure, many of the chil- 
dren were precipitated to the stone floor 
below. Forty-three were killed, as a con- 
sequence of this needless panic. 

1882. Great floods took place on the 
Rhine, which continued into December, 
occasioning severe loss and destruction of 
property. 

1885. A brilliant meteoric display was 
visible generally throughout Europe. 
Between six and eight o’clock in the 
evening more than six hundred meteoi-s 
were observed, some of them of consider- 
able size. 

No'veml>er 38. 

1859. Washington Irving, the most 
distinguished early American author, and 
the first to enforce British recognition of 
American literary genius, died at Sun- 
nyside, his home on the Hudson. As a 
humorist, historian, and essay- writer he 
is unsurpassed among American authors 
for grace of style and purity and ele- 
gance of diction, and his works seem 
destined to become American classics. 

1884. Fanny Elssler, for many years 
the most admired danseuse of America 
and Europe, died in Vienna, in which 
city she was born in 1811. She performed 
with great applause in the principal Eu- 
ropean cities, and in 1840 visited the 
United States, where she was received 
with enthusiasm. Her first appearance 
here was at the Park Theatre, New York. 

INTo'vemljei’ 30. 

1530. The celebrated Cardinal Wolsey 
died. This eminent prelate was of ob- 
scure birth, but by force of genius brought 
himself to high station and became the 
chief minister and favorite of Henry 
YIII. After many years of power, he 
lost the royal favor, and was arrested on 
a charge of treason, but died before the 
time fixed for his trial. His present fame 
is largely due to Shakespeare’s celebrated 
lines, in which Wolsey is made to plain- 
tively describe the instability of greatness. 

1652. Van Tromp, the most celebrated 
of Dutch naval commanders, having de- 
feated the English fleet, sailed through 
the Channel with a broom at his mast- 
head. In August of the next year the 
English repaid him for this insulting 


748 


EVERY DAY'S RECORD. 


triumph, Van Tromp being mortally 
woimded in an engagement. 

1814. The London Times was printed 
by steam, this being the earliest employ- 
ment of steam-power in printing. The 
pressmen, who expected to be thrown 
out of employment by this innovation, 
threatened violence, but the edition was 
printed during the night without their 
knowledge. The next day Mr. Walter, 
the proprietor, told them that he was 
ready for violence, but that he would pay 
their wages till they could get similar 
employment. This checked the threat- 
ened riot, and steam-power continued to 
be used. 

1825. The first performance of Italian 
opera in the United States took place at 
the Park Theatre, New York. 

1847. A party of Indians attacked the 
fort at Walla Walla, in Oregon. Fifteen 
persons were murdered and sixty-one 
carried away as prisoners. In reprisal an 
expedition was sent against the Indians, 
which defeated them in three battles, de- 
stroyed their crops, and burned their 
villages. 

1853. John Mitchel, the celebrated 
Irish exile, reached New York, having 
made his escape from Yan Diemen’s Land. 
He was received with a public banquet 
in Brooklyn, and other marks of honor. 
He had been banished for fourteen years 
for his utterances in The United Irish- 
man. In 1874 he returned to Ireland 
and was elected to Parliament, but died 
before taking his seat. 

1863. General Longstreet attacked 
Knoxville, which was defended by Gen- 
eral Burnside. Failing in this, and in 
another attack on December 1, he gave 
up the siege and retreated into Virginia. 

1872. Horace Greeley, the eminent 
American journalist, died. He was the 
founder, in 1841, of the New York Daily 
Tribune, after having conducted several 
other papers, among them The Log Cabin, 
which in the 1840 Presidential campaign 
attained a circulation of eighty thousand. 
He was recognized throughout his life as 
an editor of remarkable ability and as a 
man of lofty character and the highest 
human sympathies. In 1872 he was the 


Liberal candidate for President, but 
failed of an election. He died immedi- 
ately afterwards. 

1884. A great billiard-match took 
place at London between Cook and Peall, 
champion players. It lasted six days, 
and Peall won by 2926 points, ending the 
game with an unfinished run of 614 
points. 

November 30. 

1700. The battle of Narva, between 
Peter the Great of Eussia and Charles 
XII. of Sweden, was fought. Charles, 
then but nineteen years of age, had an 
army of twenty thousand men, while the 
Eussians were intrenched with an army 
of sixty thousand, or one hundred thou- 
sand, according to different authorities. 
Charles stormed the intrenchments, slew 
eighteen thousand of the Eussians, took 
thirty thousand prisoners, and completely 
dispersed the remainder. He said, “ These 
people seem disposed to give me exercise.” 

1731. A severe earthquake took place 
in China. The city of Pekin suffered 
great damage, and one hundred thousand 
of its inhabitants were swallowed up. 

1784. The session of the United States 
Congress .which began on this day was 
held at Trenton, New Jersey. 

1861. Jefferson Davis was elected 
President of the Confederate States, with 
Alexander H. Stephens for Vice-Presi- 
dent. They had been elected in the pre- 
vious February to the same offices by the 
provisional government formed by the 
first seceding States. They were both 
men of marked political ability, and it 
is doubtful if any better selection could 
have been made by the seceding States. 

1885'. Germany took possession of the 
Marshall Islands. These islands, dis- 
covered in 1529, form a group of that 
division of the Pacific islands known as 
Melanesia. They are low coral islands, 
or atolls, there being two chains of these, 
from one hundred to three hundred miles 
apart. Each chain has fifteen or sixteen 
atolls, varying from two to fifty miles in 
circumference. The Marshall Islanders 
are the boldest and most skilful navigators 
in the Pacific. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


749 


OUBEEIsTT NOTES. 


Miss Frances E. Willard, of Evanston, Illinois, President, and Mrs. May 
Wright Sewall, of Indianapolis, Indiana, Corresponding Secretary of the National 
Council, that was organized in Washington, D.C., as the outcome of the great 
council of women held there last spring, are laying the foundations of a new 
and mighty work. Its purpose is to secure in every leading city and town of 
the United States a “Woman's Council" made up of the presidents of all so- 
cieties of women, having a head-quarters of ite own, with an office secretary, 
and entering unitedly upon such lines of work as all the women can agree upon. 
It is believed that such a plan of interaction, combined with the organic inde- 
pendence of each society, will do away with the overlapping of plans that now 
leads to much waste of time and energy ; also that it will broaden the horizon 
of every woman who belongs to an organized society of women, and to larger 
mutual toleration between guilds heretofore separate and to a great degree non- 
sympathetic. As an illustration of the practical working of the plan it may be 
stated that such a council of women could readily arrange for petitions from all 
societies of women in any given town or city asking that women should be placed 
upon the school board, upon the different boards intrusted with the care of public 
institutions for the defective, delinquent, and dependent classes ; asking for the 
admission of women to local, county, state, and national organizations, such as 
press associations, medical associations, ecclesiastical associations, etc.; asking 
that the doors of such schools and colleges as are not yet open to women might 
be thrown wide open for their admission ; asking for better protection for the 
home and heavier penalties for all crimes against women and girls. Women 
could use their influence to secure for girls in the public schools better opportu- 
nities for physical culture, and the enforcement of the new laws for instruction 
in hygiene. They could also help to engraft the kindergarten system on the 
public schools. They could do much for the protection of shop-girls, in furnish- 
ing them better conditions of living by securing local ordinances requiring the 
best sanitary conditions, limiting the number in one room, and in every way 
ameliorating the present situation, while using their utmost influence to increase 
the wages of this class of workers. 

The American Notes and Queries (William S. Walsh, Publisher, 619 Walnut 
St., Philadelphia, weekly, $3.00 per year, 10 cents per number) offers One Thou- 
sand Dollars for answers to Prize Questions. “ This valuable weekly publication," 
says the Boston Evening Transcript^ “ has now reached its twelfth number, arid we 
are glad to know is far past the experimental stage. Its establishment was a 
happy thought, and we see no reason why it should not, under its present judi- 
cious management, attain the permanence and popularity of its famous London 
namesake. Its scope is comprehensive, and covers every conceivable field in 
which the human mind may feel an interest, the purpose being to gather infor- 
mation of a curious character upon all sorts of subjects, to discuss and settle 


750 


CURRENT NOTES. 


disputed points in literature, art, science, and history, to investigate the origin 
of popular customs, traditions, and sayings, to collect and examine the stories of 
remarkable occurrences, and to offer an opportunity for discussion upon these 
subjects.” 

The question as to the origin of the term “bock beer” is answered in 
Schmellers’s Bavarian Dictionary. It was originally termed “ Eimbecker” beer. 
In the imperial archives we can yet read a permit issued to a citizen of Erfurt 
and allowing him to transport “ two wagon-loads of Aimpeckhisch beer.” This 
beer, the original home of which was the little town of Eimbeck, Hanover, was 
so famous all through the Middle Ages that no other beer, nor even the costliest 
wine, could compare with it in popularity. In order to tickle the German sense 
of fondness for good “ barley bree,” attempts were soon made to produce it in 
other localities. Thus the remembrance of the original name was gradually lost. 
“Eimbeck” became successively “Eimbock,” “ein bock,” and finally plain 
“bock.” This popular word-transformation is already several hundred years 
old, for in the Land- und Polizeiordnung of 1616 a “ bock meet” is referred to, 
which “ should only be brewed to meet the necessities of the sick.” — 

The study of the growth of Western cities and comparative values of real 
estate has fascinations for the investing community. An exceedingly interesting 
circular on this subject has been issued by H. B. Chamberlin & Bro., Denver, 
Colorado, discussing facts relating to a number of cities, and may be had by ad- 
dressing them. 


The J. B. Lippincott Company will have ready on November 1 a book by 
William S. Walsh entitled “Paradoxes of a Philistine.” The contents are as 
follows : “ Paradox and Philistine,” “ Philosophers and Fools,” “ The Mistakes 
of the Judicious,” “ The Mistakes of the Critics,” “ The Mistakes we all Make,” 
“ A Plea for Plagiarism,” “ Telling the Truth,” “ The Modern Novel,” “ Eealism 
and Idealism,” “ The Sense of Pre-existence,” etc. 

Special attention is called to the very interesting article on “Corporate 
Suretyship,” by Mr. Lincoln L. Eyre, as being particularly opportune at this 
moment, when the recent developments in New York, involving hundreds of 
thousands of dollars in defalcations by trusted individuals, have opened the eyes 
of business firms and the public in general to the importance of insuring against 
the losses that are constantly occurring in this manner. The whole subject is 
fully canvassed in the article in question in a manner that is at once instructive 
and entertaining. 


The word porcelain is derived from pour cent aiinees, “for one hundred 
years,” it being formerly believed that the materials of porcelain were matured 
under ground one hundred years. It is not known who first discovered the art of 
making it, but the manufacture has been carried on in China, at King-te-Ching, 
ever since the year 442. We fii-st hear of it in Europe in 1581, and soon after 
this time it was known in England. The finest porcelain -ware, known as 
Dresden china, was discovered by an apothecary’s boy, named Boeticher, in 1700. 
Services of this ware have often cost tens of thousands of dollars. 

70 5 


LIPPINCOTTS MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


“ h: ^ o 3sr ID ” 



PRICE (including- taole or extra type-wheel), $100.00. 


METALLIC-faced type- wheels. 

Increased MANIFOLDING capacity. 

NOISE reduced to a minimum. 

No SMUTTING or BLURRING with our new ribbon shield. 

A PLEASANT, ELASTIC TOUCH which does not weary the operator. 


THE HAMMOND TYPEWRITER CO., 


city Sales Office, 77 Nassau St., New York. 


292-298 Avenue B, New York. 



C. C. SHiflll, 

Manufacturer of Seal- 
skin Garments, newest 
styles, and all leading 
fashionable furs, 103 
Prince Street, New York. 
Fashion Book mailed free. 
Send your address. 



HOME EXERCISER”/^ 

and Sedentary People; Gentlemen, Ladles, and Youths; 
the Athlete or Invalid. A complete gymnasium. Takes 
u p but 6 inches square floor-room; something new, scien- 
tihc, durable, comprehensive, cheap. Send for circular. 
— “Schools for Physical and Vocal Culture,” 16 
Eas‘ 14th Street and 713 5th Ave.. N. Y. City. 
Prof D L. Dowd Wm. Blaikie, author of 
“ How to get Strong,” says of it : I never saw 
any other that I ilked half as well.” 


Cups and Saucers. 

For over twenty years Ovington 
Brothers have made a special feature 
of selling odd cups and saucers of all 
sizes and patterns, either singly or in 
assorted dozens. They now offer the 
choice from a stock of over twenty 
thousand cups, representing 1413 dis- 
tinct styles, sizes, and patterns. 

328 Styles of Royal Worcester China, from 
75 cents to 156.00 each. 

285 Styles of Tea Cups, mostly from ;^i.oo to 
$2.00. 

665 Styles of After-Dinner Coffee Cups, worth 
from 10 cents to ^10.00. 

185 Styles of Large Breakfast Coffee Cups, 
from ;^i.oo to J^4.oo. 

108 Styles of Bouillon Cups. 

84 Styles of Chocolate Cups. 

30 Styles of Moustache Cups. 

56 Styles of White China Cups for Decorating. 


SHORT 


HAND PAMPHLET AND 6 MAIL 
leseons, half-course, TEN CENTS. 
Lingle’fl College, 1431 Chestnut St., Phila. 


Ce Thb Best Cure in the World hr coughs, JJ 
* colds, and consumption, is Cutler Bros. & Co's well- 
known Boston Vegetable Pulmonary Balsam. 


CHORTHANDJS^SifWM 

■Sitiintions procnred forpupUs when competent, 
w end for circtflar. W. U. CBAFF££s Osweero. N.Y. 


If not convenient to make a personal 
selection, letters addressed to the Chi- 
cago House, 145 State St., or the Brook- 
lyn House, 250 Fulton St., will receive 
prompt attention. 

Ovington Brothers. 

1 


LIPPINCOTT' S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


BAILEY, BANK S & BIDDL E’S ART-ROOM. 

A Splendid Collection of Porcelains, Paris Purniture in Styles 
of the Eighteenth Century, Clochs, Sculptures, 

Einioges Enamels, Bronzes, Etc. 

Messrs. Bailey, Banks & Biddle’s Art-Room, inaugurated last year at their great establishment, 
Twelfth and Chestnut Streets, was so great a success that, for this season, they have opened it with 
an entirely new and even finer collection of choice bits from their new importations, the most beau- 
tiful specimens of recent artistic handiwork, with here and there a magnificent achievement in pure 
art, such as Cambi’s great sculpture entitled " The Springtime of Life.” 

Upon entering, the admirable general effect instantly arrests attention, made up as it is of all the 
elements of form and color. Near Cambi’s masterpiece are several cabinets in the Marie Antoinette 
styles known as h la Reine, in examples of which the collection is especially rich. The works of such 
^benistes as Riesei^ir and David Roentgen, the Martin fr^res, those Frenchmen endowed with an 
Oriental art-touch with which they gave a distinctive character to the justly-celebrated Vernis Martin, 
and that unequalled gilder Gouthi^re appear in fac-simile on every side, not only in cabinets, escri- 
toires, consoles, ^tag^res, etc., but in the graceful bracket and mantel clocks, with their attendant 
girandoles and flambeaux. One of the mantel clocks is a reproduction of the noted cartel in the 
collection of M. Barbet de Jouy, which is of the Regency period and one of the most admired of all 
that have survived the French Revolution. The cabinets and console tables are decorated with ele- 
gant vases and with China groups representing the pastoral and childish sports in vogue in court 
circles of the period from Louis XIV. to Louis XVI. 

Entirely new varieties of English chiming clocks, onyx clocks, with superb decorations in limoges 
enamels and ormolu, and several introductions of clocks in new shapes of decoration. Among the 
porcelains are pieces of rare Sevres, Meissen, Crown Derby, Royal Berlin, and Royal Worcester. 

Splendid as this display is, the same taste that gives it such impressive style is also manifest in the 
new goods throughout the establishment, including many small, comparatively inexpensive pieces, as 
well as the costly masterpieces of art and decoration . — Philadelphia Times. 

THE PERSONALITY OF PENN. . 

When William Penn landed in America he was a compara- 
tively young man, about thirty-seven years of age. There is but 
one authentic portrait of him, and that one painted when he was 
scarcely more than twenty, after his return from a successful 
military expedition into Ireland. It represents him in armor. 
The painting of Penn’s Treaty, by Benjamin West, depicting the 
Founder of Pennsylvania as a man of sixty years, portly and 
Quakerish in garb, after the manner of the Friends of the artist’s 
time, is altogether erroneous, and yet this figure of Penn is the 
popularly accepted ideal of the man. 

The Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company of Phila- 
DELPHI A commissioned a Philadelphia sculptor, G. Frank 
Stephens, to model a statue of William Penn from authentic 
data as to his age, presence, and costume. It has been com- 
pleted, and will shortly be on exhibition. 

For the purpose of placing in the hands of those who may 
desire it a correct representation of the man as he was, a fine 
cabinet photograph, with historical data, will be sent on receipt of 
ten cents in postage-stamps (less than cost) by 

The Penn 

Life Insurance Company, 

Philadelphia, Penna. 

2 


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LIPPINCOTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


three: 

BEAUTIFUL POPULAR BOOKS 

Uniform with ** Swanee River** and 
** Old Kentuehy Borne.** 

Marcliinj Thiougli Geop. 
Nelly was a Lady. 
Massa’s in the Cold, Cold Ground. 

Beautifully illustrated. Each in one volume. 4to. 
Full gilt. Bronzed Arabesque, Cloth, Ivory 
Finish, or Imitation Wood, ^ 5 i.So; Seal, ;^2.5o; 
Flexible Calf, Extra, or Tree Calf, ;^s.oo. 

These noble and beautiful songs have been for many 
years popular with the American people from Maine to 
California, and there is hardly a man or woman in the 
Republic that does not know and love them. They are 
now for the first time published in sumptuous holiday 
editions, with remarkable richness and beauty of illustra- 
tions and bindings,- and will find thousands of buyers 
everywhere. 

The Letters of Felix Mendelssohn to Ignaz 
and "Charlotte Moscheles. 

Translated and edited by FELIX MosCHELES. 
8vo. Illustrated. ^3.00; in Half Calf, $5.50. 

A MAN STORY. 

By E. W. Howe. Author of “ The Story of a 
Country Town.” lamo. $1.50. 

Fonr Years ilth the Army of the Potomac. 

By Regis DeTrobriand, Brevet Major-General, 
U. S. Vols. Translated by George K. Dau- 
CHY, Late Lieutenant Commanding Battery, 
I2th N. Y. Light Artillery, U. S. Vols. i vol. 
8 VO. With maps, and a steel portrait of Gen- 
eral De Trobriand, ^^3.00. 

THE YOUNGEST MISS LORTON, 

And Other Stories. By Nora Perry, author 
of “ A Flock of Girls,” “ A Book of Love 
Stories," ” After the Ball,” etc. Illustrated. 
I vol. i2mo. ;^i.5o. 

FAGOTS FOR THE FIRESIDE. 

By Lucretia Peabody Hale, author of "The 
Peterkin Papers,” etc. Illustrated. i2mo. 
;^i.5o. 

YOUNG MAIDS AND OLD. 

By Clara Louise Burnham, author of ” Next 
Door,” etc. i vol. i2mo. ;^i.5o. 

An admirable new story, piquant and entertaining, by 
one of the best-known contemporary novelists. 


TICKNOR { CO., Boston. 


IHFOBTAirr NIW BOOKS 

PUBLISHED BY 

T. Y. CROWELL i CO.. 

NO. 13 Astor Place, New York. 


Golden Words for Daily Counsel, 

Selected and arranged by Anna H. Smith, 
with Introduction by Huntington Smith. 
Cloth. i6mo. $ 1 . 00 . Gilt edge. ^1.25. 

The hope of both compiler and editor is that it may 
serve in some manner to enlarge the idea of personal 
duty, to lessen the little offences that are so apt to make 
the life in common unbearable, to incite to words and 
deeds of mutual kindness, to broaden and deepen the 
sense of charity, which is the sense of love. 

The Search for the Star, A tale of life 
in the wild woods. By Edward Willett. 
i2mo. Illustrated. $1.25. 

Full of adventure and hair-breadth escapes. Just the 
book for live, wide-awake boys, who will make safe ac- 
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The Captain* s Dog, By Louis Enault. 
Translated from the French by Huntington 
Smith. 18 Illustrations. i2mo. $1.00. 

A charming book in which the adventures of “ Zero,*’ 
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which only French writers possess. Nothing in the way 
of canine literature since “ Rab and his Friends” has 
been published, to compare with this exquisite tale. 

Wrecked on Labrador, A story of 
shipwreck and adventure for boys. By W. 
A. Stearns. i2mo. $1.50. 

Labrador is generally regarded as a desert coast. This 
book pictures it under entirely different conditions, and 
the story is healthily ballasted with accurate informations 
which will be appreciated by every boy who loves to hunt 
and fish and collect ” specimens.” 

Sevastopol, By Count Lyof N. TolstoI. 
Authorized translation from the Russian, by 
Miss Isabel F. Hapgood. i2mo. $1.00. 

These marvellously vivid sketches of the Crimean 
War, in which Count Tolstoi took an important part, 
show the real aspect of military glory. They arc photo- 
graphic and brilliant ; rich in detail, and yet stern in their 
simplicity. 

The Cossacks, A tale of the Caucasus. 
By Count Lyof N. TolstoI. Authorized 
translation from the Russian, by Nathan 
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This, ” the most perfect work of Russian fiction,” as 
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unknown land and also illustrates the dawn of Count 
Tolstoi's altruistic tendencies. 

Family Happiness, By Count Lyof N. 
TolstoI. Authorized translation from the 
Russian by Nathan Haskell Dole. 
i2mo. 75 cents. 

” Family Happiness” is like a finished study for Anna 
Karenina. In view of the current discussion of the ques- 
tion whether ” marriage is a success,” this book is an 
answer and a warning. 

8 


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AMERICAN 

HISTORY, STATESMANSHIP, m LITERATURE. 


“ Logically compact in structure and development, scholarly and readable in thought and 
style, and withal pervaded by a lofty ethical spirit, they mark a most decided advance in modern 
English prose, and bid fair to settle many a literary question that has hitherto defied the wisdom 
of the wisest.” — TAe Independent. 


AMERICAN STATESMEN. 

Biographies of Men distinguished in the Political History of the United States. 


John Quincy Adams. By John T. Morse, Jr. 
Alexander Hamilton. By H. Cabot Lodge. 
John C. Calhoun. By Dr. H. von Holst. 
Andrew Jackson. By Prof. W. G. Sumner. 
John Randolph. By Henry Adams. 

James Monroe. By Pres. D. C. Gilman. 
Thomas Jefferson. By John T. Morse, Jr. 
Daniel Webster. By Henry Cabot Lodge. 
Albert Gallatin. By John Austin Stevens. 

Each volume uniform. i6mo. 


James Madison. By Sydney Howard Gay. 
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JOHN WARD, PREACHER. 

By MARGARET DELAND, 

jA-utlnor of “The Old. Grarden, and Other Toems,” 

i 2 mo« $i. 50 - 

-^l EICsrHTH EDITION’.!-^ 


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“ For close analysis, for tender effectiveness, for delicacy in handling this subject, we have 
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O 

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FROM GRAVELOTTE TO SEDAN. By General Philip H. Sheridan. With 
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THE EVERY-DAY LIFE OF RAILROAD MEN. By B. B. Adams, Jr. 

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MEMORIES OF THE LAST FIFTY YEARS. Second paper. By Lester 
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WHERE SHALL WE SPEND OUR WINTER? By Gen. A. W. Greely, 

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THE PORT OF MISSING SHIPS. A Story. By John R. Spears. 

FRENCH TRAITS— MANNERS. By W. C. Brownell. 

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THE EDUCATION OF AN ENGINEER— MORE RANDOM MEMORIES. 
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-r- THE RAILWAY SERIES. 

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THE ARTICLES ALREADY PUBLISHED ARE: 

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“FEATS OF RAILWAY ENGINEERING,” by John Bogart (July). 

“AMERICAN LOCOMOTIVES AND CARS,” by M. N. Forney (August). 

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A TALE OF THE INDIAN MU- 
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CHRIST ON CALVARY. (Illustrated.) 

Criticism of Munkacsy’s Painting. By Geo. W. Holley. 

THE VALLEY OF THE CONNECTICUT. (Illustrated.) 

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ROBERTS BROTHERS’ NEW BOOKS. 


The Story of an African Farm* 

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Franklin in France. 

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The Ordeal of Richard 
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Evan Harrington. 

Diana of the Crossways. 
The Pilgrim’s Scrip; or, 


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V ittoria. The Egoist. 

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Wit and W^isdom of George Meredith. 

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Pere Goriot. The Magic Skin (LaPean The Two Brothers. 

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NEW CHAPTERS IN AMERICAN HISTORY. 


7he ^dvance-Guard of Western Givilization. 

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12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.50. 

This work is a narrative of an episode which is perhaps the most unique and remarkable in 
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THE REAR-GUARD OF THE REVOLUTION. 

JOHN SEVIER AS A COMMONW EALTH-BUILDER. 

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. 1 


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The Adventures of David Vane and David 
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Five Little Peppers Midway. By M rga- 
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Early Days in the Wild West. By Jessie 
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Cookery in the Public Schools. By Sallie 
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Stories of the Famous Precious Stones. 
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Therapeutics : Its Principles and Practice. 

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Chambers's Encyclopcedia. Vol. II. 

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" 17 


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tjlich: ALT asnonT 


DNTlO^ypC^HEAR* 

CATAiioGUES. mailed^ 

"^QRAUGHT-SMENS-V> n’ " 

i ifPoikitq 





LIPPINCOrrS MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


PHILADELPHIA MORTGAGE AND TRUST COMPANY. 

Capital, $500,000, Full Paid. Surplus, $45,000. 

322 


A.cts as ISxeeutof, Trustee, Guard.ian, A-dministrator, etc., and Executes Trusts 
of evet'y kind. 

All Trust Investments are kept separate and apart from the Assets of the Company, 

Recommends to Investors its Five Per Cent. Real Estate Trust Bonds, secured by special deposit of 
First Mortgages on Real Estate with The Fidelity Insurance, Trust, and Safe Deposit Co., Trustee. 

Also, Six Per Cent. Mortgages, in amounts from $200 to ^10,000, secured by first liens on City and Country 
Property having cash value of three times the amount of mortgage. Principal and Interest Guaranteed by 
the Company and payable at its office. Each property by which these mortgages are secured is inspected by our 
Special Examiner, and titles passed upon by competent counsel. For sale at par and accrued interest. 


Vice-President, Secretary and Treasurer, Solicitor, 

EDWARD HOOPES. R. T. McCARTER, Jr. GEO. JUNKIN 

IDIRECTORS. 


President, 

BENJAMIN MILLER. 

Benjamin Miller, 
Charles Platt, 

Edward Hoopes, 


Joseph S. Harris, 
Winthrop Smith, 
Charles Huston, 
Thomas Woodnutt, 


Charles L. Bailey, 
Francis B. Reeves, 
John H. Catherwood, 
Lawrence Lewis, Jr. 


Geo. D. McCreary, 
Charles H. Banes, 
Wm. H. Ingham. 


THE GaARANTEE 


TRUST AND SAFE 
DEPOSIT CO. 


316, 318, AND 320 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 

C.A.PIT.A.X«, 91 , 000 , 000 . 


RENTS SAFES in its Fire- and Burglar- Proof Vaults, 
with Combination and Permutation Locks, at $j,oo 
per year and upwards. 

ALLOWS INTEREST ON DEPOSITS OF MONEY. 

Acts as TRANSFER AGENT and REGISTRAR 
of Corporation Stocks and Bonds. 

DIRECTORS, — Thomas Cochran, Edward C. Knight, 

J. Barlow Moorhead, Thomas Mac Keller, John J. 
Stadiger, Clayton French, W. Rotch Wister, Alfred 
Fitler, J. Dickinson Sergeant, Aaron Fries, Charles A. 

Sparks, Joseph Moore, Jr., Richard Y. Cook. 


EXECUTES TRUSTS of every kind, holding Trust 
Funds separate and apart from the Assets of the Com- 
pany. COLLECTS INTEREST OR INCOME. 
RECEIVES FOR SAFE KEEPING, under 
guarantee. Valuables of every description. 

Receipts for and safely keeps WILLS without charge. 

THOMAS COCHRAN, President. 
EDWARD C. KNIGHT, Vice-President. 
HARRY J. DELANY, Treasurer. 

JOHN JAY GILROY, Secretary. 
RICHARD C. WINSHIP, Trust Officer. 





binding OFALL 

OVER ONE HUNDRED — ^VARIETIES AND SIZES 

MANUFACTURED BY 

HOLMES,BOOTH & HAYDEN S. 

FACTORIES WATERBURYCONN. 

25 Rirk Place aiidZZ Mimay Street, New York. 



#WRIGLEY>S SOAP 

FOP. e FOR 12 FOR 20 

A Silver-Plated Teaspoon. A Silver-Plated Sugar^Sliell. A Silver-Plated Butter-Hnife# 

GROCERS SELL IT« THE WRIGLEY MFG. C0„ Philadelphia, Pa, 

28 



LIPPING OTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Tje Land Title & Ttudt 

COMPANY, 

608 CHESTNUT STKEET.- 
CAPITAL (FULL PAID) «1, 000, 000 


PERPEOTED PLAN. 


Acciflent Insnrance at Actnal Cost ! 








Executes trusts of every description. 

Acts as Surety for Trustees, Administrators, etc. ; 
as Treasurer or Agent for Religious and Benevolent 
Institutions, and as Registrar or Transfer Agent for 
the Stocks or Bonds of other corporations, paying 
their dividends or interest if desired. Wills re- 
ceipted for and kept without charge. 

Thvo per cent, interest allowed on deposUs, payable on 
check without notice. 

Has choice City Mortgages for sale. 

Boxes to Rent in Burglar-proof Vaults. 


MM f 


Li 

280 BROADWAY, 
NEW YORK OITT. 




A. W. LOCKWOOD, President. 


Titles to Eeal Estate and Mortgages 


Thoroughly Examined and Insured. 

As Executor, Guardian, Trustee, or Agent 
for the management of property, a strong, 
well-managed Trust Company has great ad- 
vantages. It can neither die nor abscond, 
its officers must necessarily be men of ca- 
pacity and experience, its capital forms a 
permanent security for its fidelity and skill, 
it has special facilities for obtaining the best 
investments, and its trust funds have to be 
kept separate from its other assets, and sub- 
ject at all times to the scrutiny of auditing 
committees and of examiners appointed by 
the Courts. 

DIRECTORS. 


William Henry Rawle, 
J. Sergeant Price, 
Harry G. Clay, 

.1 B. Colahan, Jr., 

Ellis D. Williams, 

Wm. R. Nicholson, 
Chas. Benj. Wilkinson, 


Samuel S. Sharp. 


Charles Richardson, 
George M. Troutman, 
Harrv F, West, 
Charles P. Perot, 
Nathaniel E. Jannej’’, 
Henry R. Gummey, 
G. Colesberry Purves, 


Pres., NATHANIEL E. JANNEY. 
Vice-Pres.,J. SERGEANT PRICE. 

Sec. and Treas.. JAMES P. P. BROWN. 

Trust Officer, ALBERT A. OUTERBRIDGE. 
Chm. Com. on Trusts, WM. HENRY RAWLE, 
Chm. Finance Com., GEO. M. TROUTMAN. 


EQUITABLE ARRANGEMENT OF CLASSES. 
NON-FORFEITABLE POLICIES. 
AMPLE FINANCIAL RESPONSIBILITY. 

$5,000.00 Life Indemnity. 
$2,500.00 Loss of Hand or Foot. 
$5,000.00 Loss of Hand and Foot, or 
both Hands or both Feet. 
$ 1 ,250.00 Loss of Eye. 

$25.00 Weekiy Indemnity while 
disabied. 

TOTAL COST TO MEMBER ABOUT |i2.oo PER 
YEAR, IN BI-MONTHLY PAYMENTS OF | 2 .oo 
EACH. 

ACTIVE AGENTS WANTED. 


.A.isr 

Unprecedentedly Low Death Hate. 

PROVIDENT 


KAPiSAS CITY, MO., 
FIVE YEAR REAL-ESTATE 

FIRST MORTGAGE COUPON BONOS. 

In sums of ^looo to ^io,ooo each, bearing interest at 
rate of eight per cent, per annum. Interest payable 
semi-annually. These Bonds are secured by first mort- 
gages on Kansas City property worth three and four 
times the amount of Bonds. Prompt payment of prin- 
cipal and interest guaranteed at maturity. Interest 
collectable through your own bank, with New York 
exchange added. Recorded mortgage forwarded with 
each Bond. 

CERTIFICATES OF DEPOSIT 

Issued in amounts of $ioo and upwards, bearing interest 
at the rate of eight per cent, per annum. Certificates of 
Deposit are secured by first mortgage bonds deposited 
wjth a trustee, a special deposit receipt to that cflfect 
from trustee is attached to each Certificate issued, there- 
fore making the Certificates of Deposit an absolutely safe 
investment. 

When ordering securities, write your name in full, also 
that of your city, county, and state. 

J. H. BAUHRLHIJ^ & CO., 

Security Building. Kansas City, Missouri. 


IIF[ IND levn COIHPIHT 

OF PHILADELPHIA. 


In Form of Policy, 

Prompt Settlement of Death Losses, 
Equitable Dealing with Policy-Holders, 
In Strength of Organization, 

AND 

in everything which contributes to 
the Security and Cheapness of Life 
Insnrance, this Company 

STANDS UNRIVALLED. 


29 


LIPPING OTT S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



Bondsmea Superseded. 


The Largest 
Surety Company 
in the World! 

CASH CAPITAL, 

$ 1 , 000 , 000 . 



o:f isr:EyvT 

Surety Bonds for Officers and Employes in 
Positions of Trust. Surety on Contracts. 
Accepted as Sole Surety upon Bonds required 
in any State or Federal Court. 

PHILADELPHIA OFFICE: 

Bullitt Building, 131 S. 4tli St., 

HENRY D. WELSnTRM’d’t Vice-Prest. 

STEPHEN W. WHITE, Ass’t Sec’y. 

PHILADELPHIA DIRECTORS. 

Henry D. Welsh, Stephen W. White, 

Charles J. Harrah, John N. Hutchinson, 

George W. Blabon, Henry S. Frank, 

Daniel M. Fox, Charles F. Berwind, 

John C. Bullitt, John W. Hampton, Jr. 

Samuel T. Freeman, 


HENRY K. FOX, 
Attorney. 


THEO. P. FARRELL, 
Agent. 


X>esirabfe Offices for Itent, tvUH Electric 
lAgUt, Fireproof Safe, IVasUstana, etc. 
Eooces in Stife Oeposit Vtinlt for Sent, 

BONDS O F SURE TYSHIP 

The City Trust, 

Safe Deposit and Surety Co. 
of Philadelphia. 

927 CHESTNUT STREET. 

Capital, - S500,000. 

Becomes surety on Bonds of Administrators, Trustees, 
Officers, Employes, and Contractors. 

CHAS. M. SWAIN, JAMES F. LYND, 

President. Sec. and Treas. 

JOS. A. SINN, 

Trttst Officer, 

B. K. JAMISON, 

Chairman Finance Committee. 


JOHN FIELD, 

Vice President. 


LINCOLN L. EYRE, 

Solicitors. 


B. F. HUGHES, 


DIBECTORS; 


C. N. Peirce, D.D.S., 
Chas. S. Greene, 

James M. Anders, M.D., 
Geo. Fales Baker, M.D., 
John Field, 

Andrew C. Sinn, 

Wm. R. Warner, 

Samuel 


B. K. Jamison, 

W. D. Shuster, 
Chas. M. Swain, 
John H. Wheeler, 
niichatl P. Heraty, 
Stephen Farrelly, 
James A. Wright, 
B. Huey. 


CERMAN-AMERICAN 

TITLE AND TRUST COMPANY 

N. E. cor. Broad and Arch Sts., Philad’a. 

Capital Sub scribe d, $500,000. 

OFFICEUS. 

M. Richards MuckliI, President. 

Frederick Lesbr, Vice-President. 

John A. Bickbl, Vice-President and Actuary. 
B. Franklin Fisher, Trust O^er. 

Frederick H. Hahn, Treasurer. 

Wm. E. Knowles, Secretary. 

William H. Stakkb., Solicitor. 

muECTons. 

Gustavus C. Seidel, 
Joseph Nevil, Jr. 

C. A. Max Wiehle, M.D. 
John Jos. Alter, 
Frederick Leser, 

Wendell P. Bowman, 

J acob Schmitt, 
oldbeck. 


M. Richards Muckl^, 
Henry Kunzig, 

William H. Staake, 
William Gerlach, 

Andrew J. Loccher, 
John A. Bickel, 

John C. File, 

Henry L. 


Annua! Statement.— October 1, 1888. 

liabilities. 

Capital (paid in ^250,000.00 

Surplus 20,000.00 

Profits 2,321 51 

Mortgage on Building 75,000.00 

Deposits 372,970.78 

ASSETS. ^720,292 29 

Building (Vaults and Furniture) J5i64,862.03 

Plant 10,282.89 

Bonds 35,600.00 

Mortgage Loans 286,998 c8 

Other Secured Loans 140,548.80 

Premiums and Fees Due 3,586.61 

Cash on hand 78,413.88 

$720,292,29 
Wm. E. Knowles, Sec'y. 


Fred'k Leser, Vice- Pres. 


THE INVESTMENT CO. 

OF PHILADELPHIA, 

No. 310 C hest nut Street. 

Capifah $4,000,000, Full Paid. 

Conducts a General Banking Business. 

Allows interest on Cash Deposits, subject to Check; 
or on Certificates. 

Buys and Sells Bills of Exchange, drawing on Baring 
Bros. & Co. London; also on Paris, Berlin, and Ham- 
burg. 

Issues Baring Bros. & Co.'s Circular L.etters of 
Credit for Travellers, available in all parts of the world. 
Negotiates Securities — Railroad, State, Municipal, etc. 
Offers for sale First-class Investment Securities. 


William Brockie, 
President. 

Henry C. Gibson, 

Vice-President, 


Henry M. Hoyt, Jr., 
Treasurer. 

Ethhlbbrt Watts, 

Secretary. 


Board of Directors. 

William Brockie, Wharton Barker, 

George S. Pepper, Henry C. Gibson, 

Morton McMichakl, T. Wistar Brown, 

Isaac H. Clothier. 


Advisory Committee of Stockholders. 


William Potter, 
George M. Troutman, 
William Pepper, M.D., 
Thomas Dolan, 

John G. Reading, 
Joseph E. Gillingham, 
John Wanamakbr, 
Henry E. Smith, 


Craigk Lippincott, 
Hamilton Disston, 
Clayton French, 
William Wood, 
Walter Garrett, 
John Harrison, 
Edward H. Coates. 


30 


LIPPINCOTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



ARVISs 



230 St'oad.tvnyf IVetv Yoric, 

S2S Wyandotte St., Kansas City, 

14:^^ S, Fottrth St., PHiladelpHia. 

Capital and Surplus, $1,175,000. 

Guaranteed MortgageSf 

Debenture Dotids, and 

Investment Securities, 

Philadelphia Directors. 

Wm. Hacker, John M. Shrigley, 

S. Robinson Coalb, James Schleicher, 

Richard W. Clay, Richard L. Austin, 

Craige Lippincott, Wm. P. Bembnt. 

SAMUEL M. JARVIS, RULAND R. CONKLIN, 
President, Secretary, 



Guarantee Fund to secure Investors, 
$2,eOOfiOO, 


Conservative Management insured by double 
liability of Stoekholders, 

3S years? continuous business without the lose 
of a dollar to a single investor. 


PHILADELPHIA DIEEOTORSi 

WM. B, BEMENT, Industrial Iron Works. 

GEO. BURNHAM, Baldwin Locomotive Works. 

GEO. PHILLER, Pres. First NaUonal Bank. 

GEO. M. TROUTMAN, Pres. Central National Bank. 
WM. McGEORGE, Jr., Counsellor at Law. 

The celebrated 6 per cent. First Mortgages of this 
Company in amounts from $200 to $20,000, the principal 
and interest of which are guaranteed by the above fund, 
for sale at par and accrued interest. Send for pamphlets. 

WM. McGEORGE, Jr., 

Bullitt Building, 131-143 South 4th St. 


THE 

Fidelity and Casualty Company 

OF NEW YORK. 

Nos. 214 and 216 Broadway, N.Y. 

Capital, ^250,000.00. Assets, July i, *88, #736,082,55 


Issues SURETY BONDS guaranteeing the 
fidelity of persons in positions of trust, such as Em- 
ployes of Railroads, Banks, etc., also Administrators, 
Guardians, etc. 

Issues ACCIDENT POLICIES, containing 
all modern features. 

Also PLATE CLASS AND BOILER 
POLICIES of approved forms. 


TRUST A ND SAFE DEPOSIT C OMPANY. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA COMPANY 

FOR INSURANCES ON LIVES AND 
GRANTING ANNUITIES, 

No. 431 Ohestnnt Street. 

INCORPORATEO MARCH 10, 1812. 

CHARTER PERPETUAL. 

CAPITAL - - - 62,000,000 
SURPLUS - - - 1,700,000 

Chartered to act as EXECUTORS, ADMINISTR.ATORS, 
TRUSTEES.QUARDIANS, ASSIGNEES, COMMITTEES, 
RECEIVERS, AGENTS, etc.; and for the faithful perform- 
ance of all such duties all its Capital and Surplus are liable. 


ALL TRUST INVESTMENTS ARE KEPT SEPA- 
RATE AND APART FROM THE ASSETS OF THE 
COMPANY. 

INCOME COLLECTED AND REMITTED. 


OFFICERS: 

Wm. M. Richards, President. 

Geo. F. Seward, Vice-President. 

Rob’t J. Hillas, Secretary. 

DIRECTORS : 

Geo. S. Coe . . Pres. American Exchange Nat. Bank. 

J. S. T. Stranahan Pres. Atlantic Dock Co. 

A. E. Orr Of David Dows & Co. 

G. G. Williams .... Pres, Chemical National Bank. 

A. B. Hull Retired Merchant. 

H. A. Hurlbut . Pres, of Commissioners of Emigration. 
J. D. Vermilye . . . Pres. Merchants National Bank. 

John L. Riker Of J. L. & D. S. Riker. 

J. G. McCullough .... Pres. Panama Railway Co. 

T. S. Moore Of Moore, Low & Wallace. 

J. Rogers Maxwell .... Pres. Central R. R. of N, J. 

Wm. M. Richards President, 

Geo. F. Seward Vice-President. 


INTEREST ALLOWED ON MONEY DEPOSITS. 


SAFES IN ITS BURGLAR.PROOF VAULTS 
FOR RENT. 

The protection of Its Vaults for the preservation of 
WILLS offered gratuitously. 


Gold and Silver-Plate, Deeds, Mortgages, etc,, received 
for safe-keeping under guarantee. 


BINDLEY SMYTH, President. 
HENRY N. PAUL, Vice-PresideNT. 
JARVIS MASON, TRUST OFFICER. 
WM P. HENRY, Sec*y and Treas. 

WM. L. BROWN, Jr., Ass*t Secy and Treas. 




Bindley Smyth, 

Henry N. Paul, 
Alexander Biddle, 
Anthony J. Antelo, 
Charles S. Lewis, 
Charles W. Wharton, 


Edward 8. Buckley. 


Edward H. Coates, 
Peter O- Holus, 
John R. Fell, 
William W. Justice, 
Craige Lippincott, 
George W. Childs, 



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POWDER 


FORMULA BY A FAMOUS DENTIST. 
Abiolnfelx pure »nd harmless. Price, 25 ct*. nt Ornirtrisls, 
or mailed. B. M. B. Co., 36 & 38 Central Wharf, Boston. 


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U SED AND RECOMMENDED by Meissonif.r, Kaul- 
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Johann Faber Siberian Lead Pencils. 

None genuine unless stamped Johann Pabeb. For sale 
by all stationers and dealers in Artists’ Materials. 

QUEEN & CO., PHILADELPHIA, 

General Agents for the U.S« 


81 


. LIPPINCOTrS MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER, 



PARLOR MIRRORS, 

ENGRAVINGS, 

ETCHINGS, 


PAINTINGS, 
EASELS, PEDESTALS, 
PICTURE FRAMES, Etc. 


1022 MARKET ST., PHILA., PA., 

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In shape our i 
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not differ a particle from either the Ileel£< 
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sports of every description. 

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New York, Aug. 2, '88. Highest speed on correspondence. 

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MOFF, SEAMS a SENESn, 327 Smdwtj, NJ. 



Are you unable to drink Chocolate 

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LIPPING OTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


GOOD STEAM HEATING 

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Buttonholes i 

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LIPPING OTrS MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



ONLY WHEN THE LIPS DISPLAY PRETTY TEETH. 


The shells of the ocean yield no pearl that can exceed 
in beauty teeth whitened and cleansed with that incom- 
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THE INDEPENDENT, 

NEW YORK. 


“ The most influential religious organ in the States." 
— The Spectator , London, Eng. 

" One of the ablest weeklies in existence." — The Pall 
Mall Gazette, London, Eng. 

"A great religious journal." — The Advertiser , Bos- 
ton, Mass. 

"Clearly stands in the forefront as a weekly religious 
magazine." — The Sunday-School Times, Philad’a, Pa. 

" The strongest, largest, best undenominational evan- 
gelical religious weekly in this or any other country.” — 
The Baltimore Methodist, Baltimore, Md. 

" The best religious paper in the world. — Charlrs T,. 
Thompson, D.D., late Moderator of the Presbyterian 
General Assembly. 

Subscription, $3.00 a year; 95.00 for two 
years. 

“Trial Trip,” one month, 30 cents. 
Specimen Copies Free. 


THE INDEPENDENT 

AND 

LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE 

FOR $5.00. 

RFOUIiAR PRICE, 96.00. 

Any person not a subscriber to The Independent can 
secure both The Independent and Lippincott’s Maga- 
zine to one address by sending ^5.00 to THE INDE- 
PENDENT, No. 251 Broadway, New York. 

THE INDEPENDENT, 

P. O. Box 2787. New Yorh, 


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One bottle of Sozodont will last six months. 


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WINDOWS, DOORS, TRANSOMS, Etc. 



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SUBSTITUTE 


AT SMALL COST. Send for Illustrated Catalogue 
and Prices. Samples by mall, 25 cents. 


W. C. YOUNG, 


Sole Agent, 934 Arch St., 
PHILADELPHIA, PA. 


Agents Wanted Everywhere. 


Quaker Chill Cake. 

Philadelphia’s Great Anti-Malarial Remedy. 

Quaker Chill Cake has produced 
absolutely unparallelled results in 
curing malaria where every other 
conceivable effort to get cured has 
failed. There is no precedent with 
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and agreeably upon the stomach, 
liver, kidneys, and bowels (hence 
upon the blood), thoroughly cleans- 
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the system to a healthy condition. 

Mr. Van Camp Bush, 4109 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, 
says : “ Members of my family have used Quaker Chill Cakes 
for Malaria with wonderful results. Some required but one 
and others two or three before the malarial symptoms were 
entirely eradicated. I regard this remedy as invaluable. They 
are easily taken and with no unpleasant effects whatsoever, 
as is the case from other remedies generally prescribed for 
Chills and Malaria.” 

Mr. C.W Zeiber, Bookseller and Stationer.Third and Walnut 
Sts., Philadelphia, says : “I can sympathize most strongly with 
anvandall victims of Malaria, for I had three j ears of absolute 
and almost uninterrupted misery. It seems like a miracle to me, 
but nevertheless I am thankful to say that since I took a tew 
Quaker Chill Cakes I have not had one single symptom or mo- 
ment of distress.” 

Mr. A. J. Lejambre. 927 Pine St., Philadelphia, says; "After 
suffering for two weeks with Chills and Fever, Quaker Chill 
Cake cured me entirely. I have had no recurrence ot the disease.” 

Mr. Wm. J. Shed wick. 34i}4 Wallace St., Philadelphia, writes, 
under date of Nov. 14, 1887: “I fully endorse the Quaker Chill 
Cake in every respect for the good work it has done for me in 
driving the Malaria entirely out of my system." 

Price One Dollar a Cake, or Sis for Five Dollars. If your 
druggist has not got it call or send to Snyder k Co., sole pro- 
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Ifyou would like to know more about Quaker Chill Cakesend 
and get a pamphlet relating its history and containing letters 
and expressions from the best class of people and from persons 
widely known in business and society who have been cured by it. 

34 



LIPPING OTr S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER, 


A. W. FABER’S 



FAMOUS 

LEAD PENCILS, 


unequalled in 

QUALITY 

THE OLDEST AND BEST 
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HOUSE FOUNDED ’in 1761. 

PEN HOLDERS 

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If you cannot obtain 
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send 30 cts. for samples of 
same. 


FABER’S PATENT 

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crocheting, or sewing. Made of silvered 
spring wire. Fits any size spool. Every 
lady needs it. Sample, 15c. ; 2 for 25c. ; 
doz. 7SC. Stamps taken. Agents wanted. 
STAITNER &• CO., Providence, R.l. 

BICKFORD FAMILY KNITTER. 

Knits everything required by the household, of any 
quality, texture, and weight desired. 

A. M, LAWSON, 783 or 1440 Broadway, N. T. 

AGENTS WANTED. Mention Lippincott’s Magazine. 



LADIES, DON’T PIN YOUE OUPPS. 

Send 25 cents for a handsome pair of Cuflf Retainers. 

E. IVINS, 528 N. loth St., Philadelphia. 

JUST WHAT YOU WANT FOB A CE2IST- 
UAS OB WEDpiNU FBESSNT. 

Brrss Trblgs 

With Onyx Tops, Large Variety. 

The Joseph Neumann Co., Ltd. 

N. W. Cor. lltli and Race, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

Write for Catalogue. 

BUYJHE WRINGER 

jHf MOST LABOR 
i^PURCHASEGEAR 




Saves half the labor of other 
wringers, and costs but little more. 

' Doesnot GREASE 

The CLOTHES. 

Solid White Rubber Rolls. Warranted. Agents 
wanted everywhere. Empire W. Co., Auburn, N. T 







LIPPING OTT S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


A Complete American Novel in every Number. 

LIPPIIICOTrS 
MONTHLY MAGAZIIIE. 

PRICE, 25 CENTS 


The emwplete novels tvhich have already apj^eared are: 

No. 252— “DTJNRAVEN ranch.” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 251— “EARTHLINGS.” By Grace King. 

No. 25 o-~“GTrEEN OF SPADES,” and Autobiography. By E. P. Roe. 

No. 249-“ HEROD AND MARIAMNE.” A Tragedy. By Am61ie Rives. 

No. 248— “MAMMON.” By Maud Howe. 

No. 247— “THE YELLOW SNAKE.” By Wm. Henry Bishop. 

No. 246— “BEADTIFUL MRS. THORNDYKE.” By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

No. 245— “THE OLD ADAM.” By H. H. Boyesen. 

No. 244— “THE QDICK OR THE DEAD ?” By Amaie Rives. 

No. 243— “HONORED IN THE BREACH.” By Julia Magruder. 

No. 242— “THE SPELL OF HOME.” After the German of E. Werner. By Mrs. 
A. L. Wister. 

No. 241— “CHECK AND COUNTER-CHECK.” By Brander Matthews and George 
H. Jessop. 

No. 240—“ FROM THE RANKS.” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 239 — “THE TERRA-COTTA BUST.” By Virginia W. Johnson. 

No. 238— “APPLE SEED AND BRIER THORN.” By Louise Stockton. 

No. 237— “THE RED MOUNTAIN MINES.” By Lew Vanderpoole. 

No. 236— “A LAND OF LOVE.” By Sidney Luska. 

No. 235 — “AT ANCHOR.” By Miss Julia Magruder. 

No. 234— “THE WHISTLING BUOY.” By Charles Barnard. 

No. 233— “THE DESERTER.” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 232— “DOUGLAS DUANE.” By Edgar Fawcett. 

No. 231— “KENYON’S WIFE.” By Lucy C. Lillie. 

No. 230— “A SELF-MADE MAN.” By M. G. McClelland. 

Nor 229 — “ SINFIRE.” By Julian Hawthorne. 

No. 228 — “MISS DEFARGE.” By Frances Hodgson Burnett 
No. 227 — “BRUETON’S BAYOU.” By John Habberton. 

BACK NUMBERS ALWAYS ON HAND. 



SXJBSOE.IIPTIOIsr, S3.00. 


LIPPINCOTT S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER, 


Hrtistic Mhntel Co. 

1931 MARKET STREET. 



Have the Finest and Largest 
Stock of 


Mantels, Hall Seats, 
Hall Racks, 
Panellings, 

% 

Wainscotings. 

•f 

WE INVITE INSPECTION. 
CORRESPONDENCE SOLICITED. 
ESTIMATES CHEERFULLY 
FURNISHED. 


ESTAB LISHE D 1846. 

FRANKLIN 

PRIITIHG INK WORKS, 

JOHN WOODRUFF’S SONS, 

121’7 and 1219 Clierry Street, 

PHILADELFHIA, PA. 


This Magassine i« p rinted with John Woodrnff’a Sona* Ink. 

Barnes’ Patent Foot Power Machinery. 

Workers of Wood or IVletal, 

•without steam power, by using outfits of these 
Machines, can bid lower, and save 
more money from their jobs, than 
by any other means fordoingtheir 
work. Also for IN DUST II I A lb 
SCHOOLS or Home TKAINING. 

With them boys can acquire practi- 
cal journeyman’s trade before they 
“go for themselves.” Send for Cat^ 
logue. W. F. A JOHN BAIINES 
CO., No. 50*> Ruby 8t., Roekford, III. 

ART STAINED GLASS 

FOR 

CHURCHES AND DWELLINGS, 

134 N. 7tli St., Philadelphia, Pa. 



c&\ 



TheWONDERFUL 

^UBURG S 

Combining a Parlor, Library, Smok. 
ing, Reclining, or Invalid CHAIR. 

LOUNGE, BED. and 

or COUCH. Price -W ap. 
We make the largest variety of 
Adiustable, Reclinino, Phyticlant' 
and Surgeons’ Operating, Invalid 
Rolling, Hammock, Office, Library. 
Fancy Carpet Folding. Reed and Rattan CHAIRS and 
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LOCIPEDES and SELF PROPELLERS. 

ALL KINDS OF APPLIANCES FOR INVALIDS. 

PABY n OACHES 

Over 100 ditTerent designs. 

Our Patent Automatic Brake on all Car. 
riage-f, frtt. We have discontinued 
wholesaling ; by placing your orders 
direct with the makers you can tavt 
$everal profits. Our slashing prices 
and special Bargains will astonish/ 
you. Goods sola under a guarantee f 
and delivered free to any point in 

United States. Seud stamp for ,, 

Oatalogue, and state class of goods yon wish It tor. 

LUBURC MFC. CO. 

145 North Eighth Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 




UOB 


CAN HAVE ALL THE 
COMFORT AND CONVENIENCE 

Of thi very best Water Closet by nsiog # 

PATSm DR? CLOSE!. 

NO WATER I NO SEWERS I 

Can be placed anywhere 
mSIDE THE HOUSE. 

HEXP’3 PATENT EARTH CLOSET Ca 

Muakesron. Mioh. 


37 


LIPPINCOTTS MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER 


MOXXEX’S PRIZE IHEDAE 


The finest and purest product of the famed and extensive 
vineyards of the Messrs. Mottbt LaGrassb 
(Alps Maritimes), France. 


Awarded the Highest 
Prizes at the 
World’s Fairs of 
Paris and London, and 
at the U. S. 
Centennia’ Exposition, 
Philadelphia, 1876, 
two Uedals and 
H ghest Award for 
Purity, Fineness of 
Quality, and Perfection 



HUILE 
0 OLIVES' 

J.VI0TTET&C!!.a^\1 
PROPRiETAIRES.l^' 



\ 

The Keck of each 
Bottle is surrounded 
by a thread, 
at the end of which 
hangs a 
Helal Locket, 
on which is printed 
and impressed a 
representation of the 
Gold Medal of 1861. 


F. A. RFICHARD, Importer. 

CHAS. W. NOLENi Importer’s Agent, 

Its €!he«tnu,t Street f Ph,iltid,elffhia. 



I mmBiin/iienmuafaiiam/tiVf- 

I Sk.BIAROQT ew PARISH 

WCMBEXortHe JORVor fXPCRTs ON reo 
PAIUA tnTEftNATI0nU.D(HjaiT10tU^ 


/NCUtSS OJf JM CAMSm 


SERVED OH ALL PULLMAN 
AND B. & b. BUFFET CARS. 


vV READY FOR USE 
REqUlRE ONLY WARMING. 


GREEN TURTLE • TERRAPIN • 
iCHICKEN • MULLIGATAWNY- 
HOCK TURTLE QX TAIL- 
CONSOMME -FRENCH BOUILLON 
TOMATO • B EAIM • PE A - . 

I JULIENNE • PRINTANIER 
MUTTON BROTH' BEEF- 
^ VEGETABLE xOKRA CUMBO 



" in,,Ci0SS 01^ WOOD 

Fully 


foR SALE By ALL fIRST CLASS*-.; 

3CER3 aHD DEALERj 





LIPPING OTT S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



f MPERIAL GRANUM, W. C. Wile, M. D., in the New England Medical Mmthly^ January, 
1888 — “In the delicate conditions of the stomach, when every thing else has been rejected 
I have saved many lives by giving Imperial Grantjm. I consider this as one of the very 
best foods the physician can find to assist him in carrying through his patient to recovery ; and I 
have found it of inestimable value in the later stages of Phthisis, Gastritis, Gastric Catarrh, 
Dyspepsia and Dysentery. It requires little effort of the stomach to digest and I have never 
known it to be rejected if properly prepared, given In small quantities and at frequent intervals. 
The great care used in its manufacture will lead the physician to expect the same product all the 
time, and we can assure him that he will never be disappointed, as we have fully tested it m our 
extended experience.” 

We speak from experience when we say that the Imperial Grajtum is both safe and 
nutritious. It has been on the market for many years, and the largely increasing sales show that 
many others have found like results attending its use. — The Christian Union^ N. T. 

As a Medicinal Food Imperial Granum, which is simply a solid extract from very superior 
growths of wheat, is unexcelled. It is easy of digestion, is not constipating, and is to-day the 
Standard Dietetic preparation for invalids, for the aged, and for the very young. — North 
American Journal of Homoeopathy^ N F., Dec., ’87. 

Imperial Granum has now been before the public for many years, and is generally admitted 
to be a standard preparation. There can be no doubt that this is due to its uniformly superior 
quality, and the successful results obtained with it in all cases w'here an artificial food is 
required. — Popular Science News, Boston, February, ’88. 

“Imperial Granum. — A neighbor’s child being very low, reduced, in fact, to a mere baby 
skeleton from want of nourishment, as nothing could be found which the child could retain, at the 
urgent request of friends the parents were induced to try Imperial Granum, which proved such a 
benefit to the child it grew and thrived beyond all comprehension. At the same time I had a child 
sick with cholera infantum; on being presented with a box of Granum, with the high recommend 
from this neighbor, used it and continued its use to raise the child on, and I firmly believe this had 
all to do in sa.ving the former child’s life and the greater part in restoring my own child to health. 
A. C. G.” — Leonard's Illustrated Medical Journal, Detroit, Mich., Oct, ’87. 

P. Yarnum Mott, M. D., Boston, Mass., in the Microcosm, New York, February, 1886.— 
“There are numerous Foods that are much vaunted, and all have their adherents. The ‘Imperial 
Granum,’ in my hands, seems to be all that is claimed for it, and experience has brought me to 
rely on its use where its special properties are indicated. In infantile diseases it has proved very 
efficacious, and I always direct its use when a child is being weaned.” 

The lives of untold thousands of infants have been saved by Imperial Granum, and careful 
mothers are loud in their praises of this well known food, and pharmacists can safely recommend 
it — Proceedings Illinois Pharmaceutal Association, 1887. 

“On some other Planet there may be a better Dietetic Preparation than Imperial Granum, 
but not on this.” — “ The American Analyst," New York. 


SOLD BY DRUGGISTS. 


JOHN CARLE & SONS, New York 


LIPPINCOTrS MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


DUPLICATE 

WEDDING 

PRESENTS 

which brides frequently receive, we buy outright or ex- 
change for more serviceable articles. Bargaii/S without 
number coming in this way we sell at half the cost to 
manufacture. 

Our stock includes not only everything in silverware 
from a Tea Set to a Napkin Ring, but also DIAMONDS, 
WATCHES, ANTIQUE SILVER, JEWELRY, and 
Bronzes. 

We invite careful inspection, and will send goods for 
examination all over the United States and Canada. 

OLD GOLD. 

Old-fashioned and worn jewelry and silver accumulate 
in every household. If you will send us what is useless 
we will exchange it for more serviceable articles, or send 
a certified check for its full value. 

JEWELLERS’ SAWDUST for cleansing and 
keeping your gems bright. Send 12 cents for box. Full 
directions. 


JOHNSTON & SON, 

150 Bowery, N. Y. 



Onpilnl Subscribed . • . Sf2,000,000.00 

(’npitnl Paid in (CnMh) • 1,000, OfMI.OO 

Surplus and Undivided Profits, 1 f .5,444. 
Assets •••••• 4,035,94d«>J5 

6 PER CENT. DEBENTURES. 

Secured by First Mortgages held in trust by the 
American Loan and Trust Company of New York, and 
further secured by the capital and assets of the Equit- 
able Mortgage Company. 

SIX PER CENT. GUARANTEED FARM MORTGAGES. 

5 and 6 per cent. Savings Bonds, running Three Months 
to Two Years. 

OFFICES: 

New York. 208 Broadway. I Phila., Cor. 4th and Ches't St. 
Boston, 117 Devonshire St. | London, England. 

SEND FOR PA.V 1 PHLET. 


**0ur American Homes and Hot to rnmish Them." 



R. J. HORNER & CO., 

Furniture Makers and Importers, 

61, 63 & 65 WEST 23d ST., NEW YORK. 

Largest Display of First-class and Medium Qual- 
ity Furniture in America. Best Values. Prices in 
plain figures. Ten Showrooms, and Suite of Fur- 
nished Specimen Rooms. Illustrated Handbook— 
“ How to Furnish Our American Homes”— sent on 

application. press comments. 

“It is to the interest of every purchaser to buy 
furniture at the lowest price consistent with qual- 
ity. R. J. Horner & Co. sell nothing but first class 
goods, and they sell them at reasonable prices. 
The magnitude of their warerooms, the variety of 
their styles, and the perfection of their work, leaves 
nothing to be desired, as may be learned by a visit.” 

“None of the furniture displayed by R. J. Homer 
& Co. is below in quality that which should appear 
in an American home, and it grades up to suit the 
exactness of the millionaire or the artistic tastes 
of the connoisseur.” 


BUY 

JAMOUS. 


WILL 

SNEVER 

BREAK. 


GUARANTEED TO OUTWEAR 
|ANY CUSTOM-MADE CORSET 
Afjfyr/?, STROUSE & CO. 

M'rRS.-4l2 BROADWAY. Af. Y. 



Sample DR. X. STONE’S DROSCHIlL WAFERS. 
Best Remedy for Throat and Lungs. Agents 
Wanted. STONE MKOICINE CO., Qulney, Illinois. 


MADE WITH BOILING WATER. 





S’S 


GRATEFUL-OOMFORTING. 



WINDSOR 

UMBRELLAS. 

Most popular Umbrellas known. More than 
100,000 sold in twelve months. 


None are genuine without our Patented 
Springs in the sticks and ties marked as above. 




TbeeREiT I IPUT 
CHURCH LlUn I 

FRINK’S Patent Reflectors for 

Gas or Oil, give the most powerful, 
oofteat cheapest A; Best light known 
for Churches, Stores, Show vVindows, 
Banks, Theatres, Depots, etc. New and 
elegant designs. Send size of room. 
Get circular and estimate. A Liberal 
discount to churches and the trade. 
Don't be deceived by cheap imitations, 
I. P. PRINK, 5SI Pearl St., N. Y. 


BELKNAP, JOHNSON iL POWELL, 

New York and Philadelphia. 



40 


to $8 a Day. Samples worth ^1.50 Frbb. 
Lines not under the Horse's feet. Write BBEW* 

STES SAFET7 EEIH HOLDEB CO., Holly, Mich. 




LIPPmCOTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



.R 

— V 

Do 


FRENCH SOUPS 


— 

INVALIDS 

aEEFmCHICKEN BROTH.CHICKEN SOUP. CONSDMME.’nPIOCA 
ilUUENNE.GREEN TURTLE. MOCK TURTLE OXTAIL. 
IN HERMETfCALLV SEALED JARS. 
OFFICE 101 WARREN STREET NEWYORK. 
SOLD BY BEST DRUGGISTS a RINCY GROCERS. 


THE FINEST MADE 

COLBURN'S 

f>ilL-ADELph,i;\ 

M U S TAR D 

KING OF CONDIMENTS 


THE LEADING ** ENGLISH SPARROW” GUN. 





Send 2c. Stamp FOR Descriptive Circulars. By express, in 

AWOODEN BOX PREPAID ANYWHERE IN U. S. WITH 125 PROJEC- 
TILES. $2.00. ENGLESPRINQGUN Co., Hazleton, Pa. 


S “THE DELIGHT OF EPICURES” •" ■■ ■ 

HREWSBURYA 
TomatoketcJiup ^ 

THE FIRST MAntiFACfyRED FROM §171 

FRU/T-^m 


DELICIOUS WITH HOT 8. COLO CUTS, OYaTEH STEWS., FISH &C. 

ClVFSA SUPERIOR FLAVOR TO GRAVIECorAHYPPEPAR/'.TlORMMCAT 
c r UA7-ARn IS r.* 87HUD90N 5T.N-Y..j:;2 oz.BoU!-* Sent Fi-ee 
t.L,HAL7V\U, jOi.EP80Pft}£I6/i' ’ . , M£f<TI0NTHI6 PUBLICAHON 


Our Agents Make SlOO to ^300 a Month 

Selling our goods on their merits. We want County and 
General Agents, and will take back all goods unsold 
if a County Agent fails to clear $ioo and expenses after 
a thirty days' trial, or a General Agent less than $ 250 . 
We will send large illustrated circulars and letter with 
a special oflfer to suit territory applied for, on receipt of 
3 one-cent stamps. Apply at once and get in on the 
TOom. Address 

HOME MANUFACTURING CO., 
Excelsior Building, Sixth Ave. and Grant St., 

Pittsburgh, Pa. 



C AT A L O C 4 E 


_rf Humorous Books, Stump Speeches, 

MockTrials.Plays.Dialogues.KecttaUons, 

Calisthenics, Debates. Cetd Games.Trade 
Manuals, &c., FREE. (Send for one). 

Excei*l*»i* I*nl>ll*hliuf House. 

29 & 31 Beekman St., New York, N. Y. 


BICYCLES, TRICYCLES, 

AND 

EXTENSIBLE VEEOCIPEDES. 

For Growing Children a Specialty. Largest Stock. All 
standard Makes. 

BWEETIVTG-’S^ 

630 A-nCH 8TMEET , PMIIjAnEZjPMIIA .. 

Number Six-Thirty-Nine. 




Jhe American Cycles 

Descriptive Catalogue 
.onApplication. 
fiOBHULLVaJEFEERY 

=«-IVIFG.CO.=:^ 
Chicago, 111. 
ISTMANUFACTURmSINAMEBICH 

Bicycles ani Tricycles 


for Gentlemen, Ladies, Boys, a 
Misses. 20 DIFFEBEKT STYLES in 
High- and Low-Priced Wheels. Be- 
fore you purchase see our large 
Illustrated Price-List. Sent on re- 
ceipt of stamp. 

The John Wilhinson Co.j 55 8tat« Street, Cliieago, III 


and 


D O YOU vWA NT A D O G ^ 


DOC BUYERS’ GUIDE. 

Colored plates, lOO engravIng^s I 
of different breeds, prices they are | 
worth, and where to buy them 
Mailed for 15 Cents. 

ASSOCIATED FANCIERS, 
337 S. Eighth St. Philadelphia, Pa. j 



C ARBUTT».S DRY PLATES. For Profeisional, 
Amateur, and Soientifio Photography, the most perfeot 
and popular Dry Plates made, and the easiest to obtain success 
with. CARBUTT'S B Landscape Plates have no equal, and 
are the most suitable for beginners. CARBUTT’S New 
“ ECLIPSE” Plate, for speed and quality, the hnest plate eb- 
taiuabie. Especially desirable for Instantaneous and Magne- 
sium Flash-Light Exposures. CARBUTT’S ORTHOCHRO- 
MATIC Plates give correct color value, and are largely used 
in copying Paintings, Photo-Mioography. and for Horticulture 
and Landscape Photography. For sale by dealers in Photo- 
Materials. Descriptive circulars sent on addressing 
JOHN CARBUTT, Keystone Dry Plate Works, Wayne June., Phila., Pa 

THE 

BEAUTIFUL COLOBED EFFECTS 
Seen everywhere on modern 
houses are produced by 

CABOT’S CREOSOTE SHINGLE STAINS, 

For samples and circulars, send to 

70 Kilby St., Boston, Mass. 


-vioXiiisr 

Consisting of Violin, Box, Bow 
and Teacher. Sent to anypartof 
the United States 
on 1 to 3 duys’trial 
before buying. 



Violin 
Outfits 

at $4, 98, $15, and $35 each. Send Stamp for Beau- 
tifully Illustrated 96 page Catalogue of Violins, Guitars, 
Banjos, Cornets. Flutes. Lowest prices. Mail Orders a 
Specialty. C. W. STORY, 26 Central St., Boston, Mass. 


41 






LIPPINCOTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


STATIONERY FANCY GOODS DEPARTMENT 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 




Photograph Cases, 
Paravents, 


Photograph Screens, 
Manicure Cases, 


^^NNOUNCE their new and elegant 
collection of Domestic and Euro- 
pean Fancy Goods, and it will be found 
to comprise the latest Novelties in 


Artistic Bronzes, 

Fine Decorated China, 

Lamps, Onyx Tables, 

Inkstands, Bisque Figures, 
Brass Easels, 

Fine Leather Goods, 

Dressing Cases, 

Smokers’ Sets and Tables, 
Opera Glasses, 

Writing Tablets, 

Plush Toilet and Combination 
Cases, 

Fancy Scrap Baskets, 

Plush Shaving Sets, 

Photograph Albums, 
Writing Desks, Whisk Holders, 
Work Boxes, etc., etc. 


715 AND 717 MARKET STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 

42 


LIPPmCOTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADYERTISEB. 



HAVE YOU CATARRH? 

ARE YOU GOING INTO CONSUMPTION? 

Do You Have Asthma? 

By means of the Pillow* 
I'ii j Inhaler, sufferers in every 
' part of the land have been 
cured of the above diseases, 
[Ij and many who were for years 
I afflicted are now strong and 
^ rwell. The Pillow-Inhaler 
is apparently only a pillow, 
but from liquid medicines that 
are harmless (tar, carbolic acid, iodine, etc.) it gives off an 
atmosphere which you breathe ali night (or about eight 
hours), whilst taking ordinary rest in sleep. There are no 
pipes or tubes, as the medicine is contained in concealed 
reservoirs, and the healing atmosphere arising from 
it envelops the head. It is perfectly simple in its work- 
ings, and can be used by a child with absolute safety. 
•Medicine for the reservoirs goes with each Inhaler, 
ready for use. The wonderful and simple power of the 
Pillow-Inhaler is in the long-continued application. 

You breathe the healing va- 
por continuously and at a 
time when ordinarily the 
cavities of the nose and bron- 
chial tubes become engorged 
with mucus, and catarrh, 
th roat and lung d iseases make 
greatest progress. From the 
very first night the passages 
are clearer and the inflammation is less. The cure is 
sure and reasonably rapid. 


CATARRH. ® 

BRONCHITIS. 

CONSUMPTION. 


K*v. Dr. J. T. Duryka, of Boston, Yrritci : “ I really think the 

rho made it 


Pillow-Inhalbr is a very great hit, and the man wL 

fleserves the gratitude of all sufferers. I never slept more soundly, 
and my voice is l)etter since using it.” 

Prof. Arthor F. Winslow, A. B., of the English and Classical 
School at West Newton, Mass., says: “I believe the Pillow- 
Inhaler is in every way what it professes to be as a cure for 
Catarrh. I have tried it with entire success in my own sas*.” 

Wm. C. Carter, M. D., Richmond, Va., a physician in regular 
practice, says: “I believe the Pillow’-Inhaler to be the best 
thing for the relief and cure of Lung Troubles that I have ever 
Been or heard of.” 

Mr. R. D. McMantoal, of the firm of McManigal b Morley, 
Miners and Shippers, Logan, Ohio, writes: “I suffered fifteen 
years with Catarrh of the throat. I bought a Pillow-Inhaler, 
and after four months’ use of it my throat is entirely cured.” 
Send /or Descriptive Pamphlet and Testimonials. 
THE PILLOW-INHALER CO., 

1520 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


FACIAL BLEMISHES. 

Largest Establishment in the world for 
their treatment. Facial Development, 
Hair and Scalp, Superfluous Hair, Birth 
Marks, Moles, Warts, Moth, Freckles, 
Wrinkles, Red Nose, Acne, Pimples, 
Bl'k Heads, Scars, Pitting, etc., and 
1 , their treatment. Send loc. for 128-page 
tbook treating on 25 Skin Imperfections. 
JDr. JOHN H. WOODBUEY, 210 West 42d St., 
New York City, N. Y, Established 1870. 
Inventor of Facial Appliances, .Springs, etc. Six Parlors. 



COMFOirS 


PURE SPICES 


AND 


COOKING EXTRACTS. 

17 North Eleventh St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


CURE^i^eDEAF 



Peck’S Patent Improved Cttsb- 
lONED Ear Drums PerfecHy Re- 
store the Hearing, whether dear- 
ness is caused by ooias, feven or 
juries to the natural drams. _ Invisibly 
comfortable, always m position. Mu- 
sic, conversation, whispers h^rd ms- 
tinctly. Write te P. HISC(DL, 853 
Broadway, cor.Mth St.New^ork, lor 
illustrated book of proofs 


Dobbins Electric Soap, 


THE BEST FAMILY SOAP 
IN THE WORLD. 


It is Strictly Pnre. ttnirin in Quality. 


T he origins! formula for which we paid $50,000 
twenty years ago has never been modified or 
changed in the slightest. This soap is iden* 
tical in quality to-day with that 
made twenty years ago. 

I T contains nothing that can injure 
the finest fabric. It brightens colors 
and bleaches whites. 

TT washes fiannels and blankets as no other soap in 
^ the world does — without shrinking — leaving them 
soft and white and like new. 


READ THIS TWICE. 


T here is a great saving of time, of labor, of 
soap, of fu^, and of the mbric, where Dobbins* 
Electric Soap is used ace<»rding to directions. 

trial will demonstrate its great merit. It 
^ will pay you to make that trial. 

T IKE all best things, it is extensively imitated 
^ and counterfeited. 




beware of Imitations. 




TNSIST upon Ilohhins* Electric. Don't take 
Magnetic, Electro-Magic, Philadelphia Electric, or 
any other fraud, simply because it is cheap. They will 
ruin clothes, and are dear at any price. Ask for 


— DOBBINS’ EI.ECTRIC-^.o. 


and take no other. Nearly every grocer from Maine to 
Mexico keeps it in stock. If yours hasn't it, he will or- 
der from his nearest wholesale grocer. 

TJ EAD carefully the inside wrapper around each bar, 
Ja and be careful to follow directions on each 
outside wrapper. You cannot afford to wait longer 
before trying for yourself this old, reliable, and truly 
wonderful 


Dobbins’ * Electric * Soap. 


a®' 



UFFAI9 UtHIAWATEX 


NATURE’S NERVE TONIC. 


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embodying the most recent Census Returns. 


It is a large oetavo volume of 2ttSO pages, and eontaitts the eorrect 
Spelling and Pronunciation of Geogrtiphical Names. 


UFFINOOTT’S BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY. 

A UNIVERSAL PRONOUNCING DICTIONARY OP 
BIOGRAPHY AND MYTHOLOGY. 


Containing Memoirs of the Eminent Persons of all Ages and Coun- 
tries, and Accounts of the various Subjects of the Norse, Hindoo, and 
Classic Mythologies, with the Pronunciation of their Names in the 
Different Languages in which they occur. By Joseph Thomas, M.D., 
LL.D., author of Thomas’s “ Pronouncing Medical Dictionary,” etc. 
A thoroughly revised and greatly enlarged edition. 


Complete in one imperial Svo volume of 2S&0 pages. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, transportation free, on receipt of the price. 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 715 and 717 Market St., Philad'a. 

61 






LIFFINCOTT’S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER 


CASSELL’S 

FAMILY MAGAZINE 


Hasn’t Its equal as a high-class, entertaining, and instructive family magazine. 

No topic of interest in the home circle is ever lost sight of. Every member of the household Is provided for in its pages : 
be sister who loves stories, the brother who likes tales of adventure, the mother who wants to know the latest fashions from 
’aris, the father with a scientific turn of mind. Good, pure, and well-selected Fiction Is always plentifully provided, and 
he Illustrations are profuse and invariably of the best order. 

This Publication has reached a larj^e circulation, but not as larg^e as its extra- 
►rdinary merits warrant ; and knowing there are still many homes that would not be 
vithout this welcome monthly visitor if they should once become acquainted with 
ts real worth, we propose, in order to introduce it into such homes, to send the 

OCT., NOV. ^ DEC. Nos. for 20c. 


11 stamps or coin, which is but a fraction of their actual cost, believing that AJIt* 
vho send for this trial subscription will be so pleased with it that THEY will 
•ecome regular subscribers. 



ver 220 
Large-Sized 
Pages, 
eantifolly 
Illustrated. 


Partial Table Contents October Number. 

iq-OW 

FOR THE GOOD OF THE FAMILY. 
COMRADES ONCE. 

An Australian ‘‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin.*” 
To a Girl named Maud. 

In Times of Sickness. 

The Garden. 

Every-Day Puddings, and How to Make 
Them. 

The Madrigal and its 
Makers. 

Some Favorite Dogs. 
What MissTrusdale Said. 
Flowers of the Month. 
How Ships are Spoken at Sea. 
William Edward Foster. 

The Little Flower. English Paraphrase and 
Music. 

What to Wear. Chit Chat on Dress. FromOub 
London and Paris Correspondents. 

To Holiday-Makers. 

A Day on the Hills in Arran. 

The Gatherer: An illustrated Record of Invention, Dis- 
covery, Literature, and Science. — A Safety Lamp for Pe- 
troleum— The Paris Exhibition of 1889— Au Unpolish- 
able Diamond— An Air Tram-Car — The Corrosion of 
Lead Pipes— A Cure for Whooping Cough— A Simple 
Flower Bracket— Electric Acupuncture— A Sun-Stove— 
The Aiixanoscope- A New Naval Game— Condurango— 
A Stereoscopic Camera— A Purple City— A Destructive 
Wave— Wire Soles— A Leveling Machine— A New Opsi- 
ometer— A New Method of Bleaching— Spirally-welded 
Pipes— A*New Cistern Valve— Craw’ling-Rugs, and how 
to make them— Something to Sing— A Holiday Guide— 
A Pocket Encyclopiedia— More New Music— An Epoch- 
making Reign— For Musical People. 

Our Amateur Free University. 

Frontispiece-'* TO A GIRL NAMED MAUD.” 


CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited, 104 & 106 Fourth Ave., N. Y. 


62 



LIPPING OTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



For Carriage, Sleigh, Sitting-Room, or Bedroom. 
A blessing to invalids and a comfort to the well. Keep 
hot 8 to 12 hours without attention. Send for Circulars 
to The Centennial Co., Box 630, Rye, N. Y. 


'FURMAN 

" STEAM 
H EATER 

Is gaarsnteed to fornish more heat per lb. 
ot fuel burned than any other appa- 
I ratus in the world, liade In 16 lizes. 
jBUStTS EftUALL? WELL EABD OB 
jj?SOFT COAL. Send for full illustrated 

Catalogue. Address 

MRREMDEEN MFO. CO.. OENETA, N.T. 




(^CARRIAGES 


FOR TOWN AND COUNTRY. 
COLORED DESIGNS SENT UPON REQUEST. 



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PHILADELPHIA. 


ESTABLISHED 


0 ................... IsoJ. 

RNELIUS ^l^OWbAND, 

r*i v'<T'TTon'cy 






GAS FIXTURES, 






la AMPS 

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IN THEIR HEW STORE, 

CH:E:STlNHjrT STT. 

F* IT I Lj AD E: 131= H I 


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iCnOlUnd Rejected Claims reopened, .^ply 
to F. REGISTER, Att'y, 324 S. Fifth St., Phila., Pa. 

SUPERFLUOUS HAIR 

on the female face, on the arms, breast, 
neck, forehead, between the eyebrows, 
on men's faces above the beard line, 
destroyed forever without pain, scar, 
shock, or trace, by the Electric Needle 
Operation by Dr. J. VAN DYCK, 40 North 11th 
Street, Philadelphia. Hours, 9 to 4. Never fails. 
Book free. 



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EXTRA aUALlTY STEEL PENS. 


OUB BEST-SEIililNQ ETUMBERS. 



Price, 75 Cents Per Gross. 


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PHILADELPHIA. 

63 



LIPPINCOTT'S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER, 


P ARLOW^S INPICO BLUE. 

^^Ita merit! m % WASH BLUE hare been fnlljr tested and 

endoraed bj thousands of housekeepers. Your groeer oiy;ht 
to hare it on sale. Ask him for it. D. S. WlLTBERQER, 
Proprietor, 2SS North Second Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



Humphrey's Manual of Typewrit- 
ing, Business Letter-Writer, and 
Exercises for Phonographic Prac- 
tice. Price, #1.50; post-paid, (1.60. 
Humphry's Interlinear Phono- 
graphic Lessons for Self-Instruc- 
tion; six months’ course, $25. In- 
terlinear Short-Hand Text-Book, 
$•2. Enclose stamp for pamphlet 
and specimen pages. 

Humphrey's Phonographic and Typewriting 
Institute, Philadelphia, Pa. 


WHOOPING-COUGH. 

40 years’ test of Delavau’s Remedy proves its 
merit. Quickly dispels the whooping, greatly allays and 
lessens severe paroxysms of coughing,— cutting short the 
disease. Its peculiar anti-spasmodic action insures 
sleep, and is absolutely harmless in effect. When phy- 
sicians' or domestic treatment fail, you can rely on 
“DELAVAU’S." 50 c. a bottle. Sold by druggists. 
Depot, 6tli and Wood Sts., Philadelphia, Pa. 


CHARCOAl. CRB AM FOR THE TEETH 

Cleans, Whitens, and Preserves the Teeth. Contains 
nothing injurious. Ask your Druggist for it. Price 25 
cents. Sent by mail on receipt of price. Samples free. 
Send i-cent stamp. McCAMBRlDGE& SON, 31 South 
Sixth Street, Philadelphia. 

“DO NOT STAIHIMER." 

Send for 54-page pamphlet to 
JE. S. ,rOJH[X8TOX*S INSTITUTE, 

N. E Cor. nth and Spring Garden Sts., Philadelphia. 

Endorsed by Geo. W. Childs, Proprietor Philadelphia 
Ledger: Prof. H. C. Wood, LL.D., University of Penn- 
sylvania ; John Wanamaker, Prof. J. G. R. McElroy, 
University of Pennsylvania. 


DRUNKARD 

There is no happiness either for you or your family, 
your wife or your children, while you continue spending 
money for rum. Make a change at once for the better, 
^t one bottle of 

PFEIL'S ANTIDOTE 

for alcoholism, costing but a dollar, and in less than a 
week you will have done with liquor forever. Sold by 
all druggists and at office. 

No. 155 North Second St., Philadelphia, Pa. 
Send for circular. Shipped to all parts of the world. 


Good Pousekeeping 


^’015 lesa-s. 


In Volume VIII. of Good Housekeeping, commencing with the issue for November 10, 1888, Number 92, the 
able writers who have been prominent on its list of contributors, and who are recognized elements of its phenome- 
nal prosperity and success, will continue their favors. New writers are being supplemented constantly, when 
entertaining and iniructive papers are offered, to an extent that enables Good Housekeeping to keep not only abreast 
with the times in all matters pertaining to the Interests of the Higher Life of the Household in the Homes of the 
World, but to leave far behind in the struggle for achievement and success its many imitators and would-be 
competitors. 

One of the new features will be a series of papers by Maria Parloa, under the title of 

^^From the Soup ITureen to the Pudding: Dish,^> 

in which details — from the plain to the most elaborate — will be practically and entertainingly discussed and made 
useful to all housewives and house husbands as well. 

A series of papers on 

** Quaker Housekeeping:,’’ 

which has received wide acknowledgment as being the most perfect system of housekeeping known, will be the 
relation of the experience of a New England Quakeress and of her actual accomplishments in her little world of 
housekeeping life. These papers cannot fail of being very serviceable to our readers while they will be a unique 
feature of our fortnightly bills of fare. They are prepared by a venerable and venerated member of an old-time 
Quaker family under the title of “ Quaker Housekeeping: being a relation of Experience in Housekeeping which 
mmishes Plentiful, Appetizing, and Healthful Family Food, at an average expense of 

Xen Cents a Heal 

to each member of the family,” by a New England Quakeress. 

A brief series of papers on 

^^Hanual Xraining: in tke Housekold,” 

having for illustrative subjects the cardinal principles of the kindergarten, as now popularly taught in schools and 
families, will be given. 

Xable Htiquette. 

An interesting and valuable series of papers, by Mrs. C. K. Munroe, on Table Etiquette, will appear in 
Volume VIII. of Good Housekeeping, which commences with the issue for November 10, of which No. i will 
treat of The L^ing of the Table-cloth, Table Napery, etc.; No. 2, of The Duties of the Host and Hostess; 
No. 3, of The Etiquette of Small Things, and No. 4, of What to do with the Children at Table. These papers 
have been prepared, at the request of the management of Good Housekeeping, in response to applications 
from many of its readers for reliable information on the points which the subjects cover. They will add much to 
the ^mpetizing features of the Bill of Fare now in preparation for our forthcoming volume. 

Other features of practical value will be introduced as opportunity may offer and occasion require. Briefly 
stated. Good Housekeeping will continue to keep the place it has so successfully held from the start, at the head 
of the procession of serial publications devoted to home-life elevation and advancement. 

CLARK W. BRYAN & CO., Publishers, 

SPRINGFIELD, MASS. 

64 


LIPPmCOTT’S MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


LiSLE-SPUN SILK UMBRELLAS 

STHONOE8T UMBRELLA IN THE WORLD. 
Warranted not to Cut or Fade. Ask your dealer for 
them, and see that the trade-mark, “ LISLE SPUN,” is 
sUmped on every tie. S. S. FRETZ, Maker, Philada 


FASHIONS FOR FALL AND WINTER 1888-9 

Elaborately Illustrated in the 

BAZAR DRESSMAKER. 



Have now on exhibition their 
rich Silk and Velvet Novelties 
for Street, Reception, and Even- 


one thonsand of the moat beautiful atylea in Ladiea’, Miaaea', 
and Children’a Qarmenta, auoh aa are worn in Faria, Berlin, 
London, Vienna, and New York, are handsomely illustrated 
in the Bazar Dressmaker, a book of S4 pages, 16 x 11. The 
Fall and Winter edition is just ready. 

Every lady should hare a copy ; no dressmaker can afford 
to be without it. Sent to any address on receipt of 

TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. 

JA^IVCKS M:oC^IL.I.i 4fc CO., 

46 East Fourteenth St., New York. 

RICHARD BINDER, 

IMPORTER OF 

Frencli Hma n Hair an d Hair Mi 

Slegant Front Pieces, Braids, Wigs, 

IN STOCK OR MADB TO ORDBR. 

Hair Dressing, Cutting, and Shampooing. 

Weddings and Parties Attended. 

Binder's "PHYTALIA** positively cures dan- 
druff and strengthens the hair. 

THIRTEENTH, ABOVE CHESTNUT ST., 

Opposite Wanamaker*s. 


HOMOEOPATHY. 


Baby has to take what is given him or starve. On a 
milk he waxes robustious and crows out his joy in 
mere existence; on impure milk, and often, on an 
exclusive diet of artificial ” foods,” he peaks and is a 
fretful, infantile cynic. We have had people tell us that 
Lobflund’s Stbkilizbd Crbam-Milk, of which we are 
sole agents, has given wonderful health to their baby, 
and bright spirits. One gentleman said it saved his 
child's life. It is simply a pure Alpine milk, highly con- 
densed and sterilized. There is absolutely nothing in 
the can but pure milk; add water and it again is the 
original rich mountain milk. Sold by the best grocers 
and druggists. BOERICKE & TAFEL, Homoeopathic 
Importers, Pharmacists, and Publishers, loii Arch St., 
Philadelphia, Pa. 

Catalogue of Homoeopathic Books and Medicine 
mailed free. 


WOMEN 


should know how to bear children 
without pain or danger , cure their 

diseases, etc. Sealed information 

for 2 stamps. B AK£R REMEDY Oo.. Box 104, Buflalo.N. Y. 



Mark your 
Clothing ! 
Clear Rec- 
ord of 
half a 
Cen- 
tury. 


Most Reliable and Sim 
for plain or deco- 
rative 
mark- 


com- 


mon 


pen. 


ing Costumes, Wraps, etc. 

As the styles present a very 
decided change from previous 
seasons, an examination will be 
especially interesting. 

Orders by Mail for samples 
or goods promptly executed. 

BROADWAY AND IITH ST., 
NEW YORK. 


nvTCHimsows gloves 


ARE THE BEST MADE 



For Driving or Street Wear. Made from 
selected Calf, Kid, Dogskin, Buckskin, and 
Cheverette, and warranted. 

Those wishingserviceable Gloves and to 
save money, send stamp to the manufacturer 
for his book About Gloves, and how to 
get them. 

JOHN C. HUTCHINSON, 
Establislied 1862. Johnstown, N. Y. 



ANTED Ladies and Misses to do crochet- 
work at home ; city or country ; steady work. 
WESTERN LACE MFG. CO., 

3i8 Statb St., Chicago, III. 


You can live at home and make more money at ^ork for na 
I than at anything else in the world. Either sex ; all ages. 
Costly outfit FBBB. Terms free. Address 

True & Co., Augusta, Maine. 


Established 1850, 

WMli WIIEIi 

MANUFACTURER OP 

STAIR-RODS, STEP-PLATES, 

eilASS BEDSTEADS ADD CDIDS, 




Fenders, Fire Sets, and Andirons, 

Band and Foot Fails, Fire Sereetts, attd 
Foot Stools, etc. 

223 AND 225 SOUTH FIFTH STBEET, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


55 Send for Catalogue. 


Sold by all Druggists, Stationers, 
Hews and Fancy Goods dealers. 


LIPPING OTrS MONTHLY MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Something to Read at Your Leisure 

COUCERIVIIVG 



It is somewhat trite to say — men do not doubt that which is amply supported by evidence. 
Still, if you like, you can call to mind instances where this is not the case ; matters genuinely 
indorsed by unmistakable testimony which you either accept indifferently or give no thought at 
all. It is not that you are skeptically inclined, or that the evidence lacks strength and enthusiasm; 
more than likely, there is no occasion for your belief, nothing vital in the matter in so far as you 
are concerned, and you are interested only in that which is essential to your happiness. 

This leads us to speak of Compound Oxygen. 

Compound Oxygen is supported by evidence; almost a surfeit of it, good, strong, enthusi- 
astic evidence; yet your attention may not have been arrested by the little bulletins of it, so con- 
stantly presented to your view. • 

If this is true — it is certainly not our fault — there is nothing dubious about Compound Oxy- 
gen, and the evidence is all right. 

Where, then, does the trouble lie ? — presuming there is trouble. Simply in the fact that 
Compound Oxygen has not been essential to your comfort ; and this is true, because you have not 
been ill. 

There you have the condition, the only one we know of, that makes Compound Oxygen vital 
to any one. 

So, unhappily for you, we must wait until weakness and disease urge a receptive mood. 
However, you know enthusiasm when you see it, so you will have no trouble in catching the 
saving suggestion in the following : 

“ I consider Compound Oxygen one of the greatest boons ever offered to suffering humanity.” 

No. 28 Constitution street, Lexington, Ky., August 26, 1888. Mrs. Sarah A. Aubrby. 

"My mother is seventy-three years old. Compound Oxygen has surely lengthened her life.” 

Minnewaukan, D. T., June 26, 1888. Miss Delia Cannbll. 

” I do most gratefully appreciate how truly my son has been revitalized by Compound Oxygen.” 

North Grafton, Mass. Mrs. Abbib F. Goulding. 

” Your Compound Oxygen has done wonders for me.” , 

Fostoria, O., August 13, 1888. ^ ^ ^ Mrs. Susan Harvey. 

” My wife says she believes she would have been in her grave had it not been for Compound 
Oxygen.” ^ 

Milton, Del., August 8, 1888. ^ |l J. B. Mustard, Postmaster. 

Hon. P. H. Jacobs, the well-known chemist, editor of the Poultry Keeper^ Farmers' Mag- 
azine, and Agricultural Department of the Philadelphia Record, says : — 

“ I have examined carefully the Compound Oxygen manufactured by Drs. Starkey & Palen ; also 
their mode of treatment by inhalation, and have noted the great benefit to those who have used it among 
my personal friends I cheerfully say that it offers better promises of curing such diseases as consump- 
tion, bronchitis, asthma, catarrh, dyspepsia, nervous prostration, rheumatism, neuralgia, and all other 
complaints of a chronic nature, than any other treatment that has come to my notice. That it will give 
to the exhausted system renewed and permanent vitality is beyond a doubt. 

Send for our quarterly review entitled Health and Life, It contains the quarter’s record of 
the administration of Compound Oxygen for the relief of all kinds of desperate affliction. It 
will be forwarded, free of charge, together with a brochure of 200 pages, containing the history 
of this remarkable treatment. Address Drs. Starkey & Palen, No. 1529 Arch St., Philadel- 
phia, Pa.; 331 Montgomery St., San Francisco, Cal. ; 58 Church St., Toronto, Canada. 

66 


















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